The Longest Journey
by Draic Kin of the Balance
Summary: One destiny. Once choice. One journey. A young woman embarks on the longest journey of her life in this novelization.
1. Prologue: A Lion Is In The Streets

**The Longest Journey**

**By Draic Kin of the Balance**

* * *

"Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them." –William Shakespeare, _The Twelfth Night _

* * *

The room was filled only with the crackle of the wood and comforting glow of the fireplace. An elderly woman sat in a chair, rocking back and forth as the fireplace gave her and her guests warmth, comfort and a sense of serenity. Her guests lounged on the floor before her, a young man and woman in their early teens. She smiled warmly at them; she could remember when she had been like them, young and ready to face the world and eager to learn what there was to know. _How I miss it, _she thought to herself. Her time was coming to an end, and she wanted nothing more than to pass on her wisdom and spend time with those she cherished.

"So, you've come to hear me tell a story, have you?" she said to them.

"If you please, we would love to hear one of your stories. You have seen so much, you have lived so long," the young girl—Jeyne, her name was—said enthusiastically. The old woman chuckled.

"So good of you to remind me of my age, child," she replied. "No, don't worry—I am an old woman but I've lived a long and fulfilling life. And I do have stories to tell. Which story would you like to hear?"

"A true one," Jeyne said. "A true story."

"All my stories are true, child. There are enough fairy tales in the world already; there is no need for me to make up more, believe me."

"Tell us a story of the Balance, then," suggested Jeyne's friend. Elijah, his name was. The elder smiled at him. Many stories were about the Balance, some of them true, others mere myths.

"You want the story of the Balance? Oh, that's a long story, child and not one I'd venture to tell at this hour. But perhaps I could tell you a story I heard a long time ago ... a story that became the crucial turning point in the history of the Balance and that set in motion the wheels that, to this day, are still turning."

"Very well. This story, like all good stories, begins where it ends, in a tower, in a realm that is no more."

* * *

In a tower, a glimmering disc turned. The symbol in the center shimmered red and blue. Two dragons carved on the edge of the rotating disc chased each other, eyes aglow. Suspended in a beam in a chamber atop the tower, a man awakened, his eyes reflecting the eerie glow of the beam before turning into the normal eyes of a human. The beam faded away as he was gently lowered to the ground. As he left the chamber, the symbol darkened and faded to grey. Elsewhere, in another world, streams of hovercrafts flowed sleekly in the sky of an immense modern city. Skyscrapers reached loftily into the sky, casting smaller buildings into insignificance. In her apartment, April Ryan lay asleep in her bed, roaming the subconscious realm of dreams. She stirred, disturbed in her rest, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself looking up into the sky, any and all signs of her bedroom gone.

_Why can't I get a decent night's sleep without screaming from a hellish nightmare at four in the morning? _She rose to her feet, taking in her surroundings. She was near the edge of a cliff that oversaw the horizon. The land stretched out before her, offering her a taste of a world unlike any she'd ever seen before. Tall spires of rock and crags loomed, turning and twisting formlessly. Stars twinkled and gleamed faintly in the sky as the setting sun on the horizon slowly withdrew. It was beautiful enough to be on a post card, but then again, reality didn't offer such sights. In the distance, a large dark cloud loomed. It looked like a storm was heading her way. Lightning flashed, thunder booming. _I'd rather not get struck by lightning, _April mused. She cautiously peered over the edge of the cliff; for miles, she could see nothing but clouds. Great, just great. Backing away, she had barely formed another thought when a tremor shook the ground. She stumbled, leaning against a nearby tree for balance. The tree appeared to extend from the precipice. What the hell was going on?

A cry pierced the air, and an egg descended from a pile of nearby stones only to rest dangerously close on the tree roots near the cliff's edge. April approached the egg, kneeling down to get a closer view. It was enormous, too big to be an egg from a natural creature, and looked almost…reptilian. _There's no way this is reptilian. It's too big. _The cry rang out again, and she tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the egg. The cry echoed once more, and she pulled back her hand quickly as she stood up. Had it come from the egg? April turned, looking around for something so she could retrieve the egg. The tree she'd leaned on earlier was withered to the bone. Perhaps she could use a branch? She broke off a twig protruding from the trunk. As fragile as it was, it was better than nothing. The tree groaned, and a ghostly green visage manifested itself in the withered foliage of the tree.

"Oh…the suffering we must endure," the tree said tiredly.

"…What?" stammered April. _What is this? What the hell is happening? _

"Why do you take such pleasure in torturing us?" April was reeling. None of this made any sense, but then again, in the dream world, nothing made any sense.

"Torturing you? Who are you?" she asked.

"We are the voice of all trees, the spirit of wood and leaf," the tree said. _Wood spirits. I suppose that makes sense. _

"You're a talking…tree?" April felt that if the tree was human, it would have shaken its head at her in disdain.

"No. A tree does not talk, at least not in your tongue. The tongue of trees is the language of wood, root and leaf," the wood spirit explained.

"Who are you, then?" April pressed.

"Like we said," the spirit said, "we are the voice of all trees. Whenever an injustice is done, we must speak for the tree if we are present." It was only then that it dawned upon her. _The branch. I shouldn't have broken the branch off. _As if sensing where her mind was, the wood spirit spoke once more. "Oh, what does it matter anyway? There is nothing more to be done for us. We are simply here to provide comfort in the final passing to earth."

"We?" she asked. "I only see one of you."

"We are one with our host, as we are all one spirit, but legion." April shook her head. Even the wood spirit's words weren't making any sense.

"Yeah, um…thanks for clearing that up," she said shortly.

"We do not expect you to understand," the spirit reassured her. "You are human."

"What happened to the tree?" April couldn't help but ask. She had expected the tree to be lush and green, not withered and dead.

"Oh, the pain! As the battle raged, we—"

_Battle? _"Battle?"

"Between the Mother and black chaos. She was only protecting her child, but it would not back down and the force of their battle shook the mountain. The brook that fed us was led astray and without water, we began to wither and die." April's mind wandered back to the egg. She still knew nothing about it.

"What's the deal with the egg?" she queried.

"Egg?" the spirit asked. "What—oh, of course. The child. Whenever the Mother was absent, we were entrusted with the safety of the child. But now, withered and without strength, we can do nothing to help. We have failed the Mother and we despair. Our shame knows no bounds."

"What about the egg?" she repeated. Did the tree—no, spirit—expect her to leave the egg until the Mother returned, if she returned?

"Oh, it is too late. Without sustenance, we do not have the strength to bring it safely home. We have failed and the earth will know our shame for all time to come."

"Isn't there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh, we do not expect a human to come to our aid." The spirit spat out the word _human _like it was the plague.

"Lose the attitude, okay?" snapped April. "Just tell me if there's anything I can do." There was a brief silence before the spirit spoke.

"It is futile. We need water, but there is none. Not after the brook changed course."

"I'll find a way. Don't panic," she assured the wood spirit.

"We do not panic. Unlike you, we accept our destiny. If, however, against all odds, you do succeed, we will carry the child safely back into its nest. Do not make a foolish attempt on your own. It would spell certain misery." With that, the spirit vanished. Something caught her eye in the pile of stones near the tree. She bent down and picked up one of the scales, before heading to the brook. Perhaps she could simply change its course. She combined the scale and wig, forming a funnel, and placed it so the brook was redirected to the withering tree. A rush of blue light suddenly engulfed the tree; there was a sigh as the withered leaves sprang forth blossoming and jade on the branches.

_Damn. Talk about instant rehab! _April rushed back to the tree, hoping that the wood spirit would do something to let her know if they were okay.

"Hello? Hello!" she exclaimed. The spirit appeared once again, much to her relief.

"Leave us be," it snapped.

"Are you okay?"

"We find our strength returned and so we have no time for idle conversation," it said curtly. "We must drink and rejoice."

"Aren't 'we' forgetting something?" she reminded them pointedly. The spirit made no sign it'd heard her.

"Hush. Listen. The song of ancient wood—is it not sweet?" She nodded slowly, her patience wearing thin. _Did the Mother know what she was doing when she appointed the spirit to look after her child? _

"Sweet, definitely…the baby's probably ready to boogie down as well," she said, coughing at the mention of the child.

"The baby?" the spirit asked. "The egg! Thank the earth, we almost forgot." The roots shifted, and the egg rolled out of sight.

"Shit!" April rushed forward, but her worries were needless, as the roots lifted the egg safely back into the nest. Another shrilling cry came from the egg, and she was startled when it was answered. She could have sworn she caught a glimpse of a large, glowing, silvery-white creature, but she wasn't sure until the creature landed next to the nest. Unsure what she was facing, she quickly backed away. Standing before her was a white dragon. The dragon, unlike so many myths and folklore claimed, was not a terrifying sight to behold. She did not seem to want to harm her at all, and was strangely beautiful. Beautiful and majestic, while carrying a strong power about with her.

_It is you, _she said softly. _You have come. _April's brow furrowed in confusion; how did the dragon know her? Why was she expecting her?

"You know me?" _How? Why? _

_April, daughter. I have been waiting for you, _she answered.

"Waiting? Why?" April queried. _Just when I thought this couldn't get any weirder…_

_Because it begins here with you. As it always has. _

"What do you mean?" April didn't like the sound of any of this. She just wished she would just wake up so she could forget this happened.

_The breach and the mending, the pain and the joy, the end of the old and the dawn of the new. A different world. I am the mother of what is, but you—you are the mother of a future that may yet be._

"How will I know?" she asked, hating the trembling in her voice. "How will I know what to do?"

_I will guide you and I will protect you, as much as I can. But in the end, you are on your own. _

"I'm…I'm afraid," she admitted.

_You always were, my child. My daughter. _Her voice was not condescending, but gentle and comforting. April took a step closer to the White Dragon, and a deep howl rang out. The White Dragon lifted her head with a cry of anxiety. She curled herself protectively over the egg as April ran to the edge of the cliff. A black shiny pulsating amorphous cloud with a dark aura and flashes of light hovered into sight. As she backed away, it shot forth a streak of bright light at her. She screamed as she fell off the cliff, and everything went dark.


	2. Penumbra

April raised an arm to her forehead, beads of cold sweat dripping down her face. Her camisole and shorts were completely damped, sticking to her skin. _What a nightmare, _she thought to herself. _I'm completely exhausted. I must've been tossing and turning all night. It's so hot in here too. No wonder I keep having these weird dreams. I've basically been simmering in my own sweat every night this past week. Doesn't look like it's going to cool down any time soon either. It's another sunny day in Newport. _With a tired groan, she sat upright before reluctantly climbing out of her bed. Reluctantly, she got to her feet. It was a good thing the studio had got proper air-conditioning. She had promised herself she was going to spend most of the day working and she did not intend to break that promise, not this time. She contemplated making her bed but dismissed the idea. The bed sheets were barely rumpled anyway. She looked out the window and wished there was a nice view but as it was, dull brickwork was what she had to face every day. Her room was just as dreary, the walls painted a drab sky blue to cover over the minute cracks with rust colored stains seeping from the metal works. Paint had peeled off in patches from the door. The only bright soothing spot in the room was the plant on the windowsill. It had been there ever since she moved in. She was not good at taking care of living things but the plant was doing just fine despite months of neglect. She had tacked some posters to the wall in an effort to brighten the room. It was depressing to think that she had to borrow some from the cafe because she just could not afford to buy any of her own. She had also put up a piece of her work. It was supposed to be a portrait of her life study teacher but she thought he might disagree. The room came furnished fortunately. The wardrobe in the corner next to the window was made of real wood, not synthetic, something which she was allergic to.

A gentle breeze brought in the odor of the canal as she opened the window, rustling the papers on the desk beneath the shelves. Her desk at which, theoretically, where she was supposed to do her work. However, she suspected her muse had departed her for greener pastures, because lately, inspiration had been fleeting at best. As if to commiserate with her, the ventilation fan in her room clacked as it spun erratically. It was supposed to keep the room nice and cool for the summer. Sure, yeah, it was at least one degree cooler in there when it was on. It kept switching off and on sporadically. The thermostat must be broken. Like everything else in the room.

She shook off the dreary mood and began to pack some stuff to bring to the studio. She picked up a photo frame on the shelf cupboard at the foot of her bed and looked at it fondly. It was a picture of Charlie, Emma and her in Florence Park. Marcus had taken it a month ago, before the temperatures got too high. A few books leaned crookedly against one another but she hardly depended on them for any ideas. She did not read much but she believed it was important to maintain an intellectual facade. She was part of the "should be reading more but life's too short" generation. They embraced their illiteracy. The last book she read was _How to Seduce the Man of Your Dreams_. If she could just find a man to dream about, she would be all set. The sight of the small thick notebook lying by itself brought a wry twist to her mouth. It was her on-again, off-again dairy. They had had a turbulent relationship, it and her. She had been keeping a diary intermittently since she was five years old though it was not the same one. She had started the current one in April of that year. Flipping it opened, she read her previous entries with a sense of nostalgia.

_April 14th, 2209. A Friday._

_Happy Birthday to me! The big one-eight! Joyness, right? Well...not to sound like a complete spoilsport, but 18 feels kinda like 17, only I can buy a gun and pilot a hovercraft. I'd kinda figured that the number 18 would cast light into the deep dark chasm of my soul and reveal some grand truth about the universe. Like the meaning of life, or at least some explanation as to why all the guys are complete idiots. But, no. Nothing. I'm the same person today that I was yesterday. No different. Same old boring April, stuck in the same boring old life. _

_Which of course does make me realize something important. I just HAVE to get outta here soon. I have to leave. There's nothing here for me, no future, and a past I'd prefer to forget. And I know where I wanna go. The Venice Academy of the Visual Arts, in Newport. God knows if they'll accept me into their fall program, but I HAVE to try. Sarah went out there last year and she's agreed to let me stay at her place for a short while until I can get a job and an apartment._

_Writing about leaving is both scary and exciting. It's scary because I've never really been on my own before and I've never been to Newport. And of course I'm scared that "good old Daddy" will find out and force me to stay. Not that he can but he will certainly try. On the other hand, it's really exciting too! I can't imagine anything that beats starting my own life in a place like Venice! From what I've seen and heard, it looks GREAT - there are lots of little cafes and cross-crossing canals just like in the 'real' Venice, in Italy, and most of the people who live there are young and creative and not afraid to look or sound or be different. Which will make a nice change from this place._

_April 22nd_

_Today I called the Academy and asked them about their admission requirements and they told me to bring some of my work in "when you arrive". They don't really have any specific requirements, only that you're talented and dedicated and hard working. The lady I spoke to sounded nice but she didn't make any promises. She told me there are a lot of applicants and only a limited amount of spaces. I know my work's good, even though I haven't had much training. And I'm definitely dedicated and hardworking so why am I still nervous?_

_May 1st_

_I'm sorry I haven't kept up with the events in this diary but with my exams and everything else going on right after graduation, I haven't had the time. I know, I know, BAD excuse. I'll just have to take time out to and I'll definitely keep my diary up to date from now on!_

_May 25th_

_AAAAARGH! Three weeks of complete silence! I look back at my previous diaries and I wonder…where the hell did I find the time to write so much, so often? Oh well, I'll try to remember what's been going on these past few weeks..._

_I passed all my exams with straight A's (of course), and tomorrow morning I'm leaving home. Yes, I'm making the leap into the great unknown and I'm never coming back here. I withdrew all my money from the bank—$2190—and I've packed a suitcase and a bag with my clothes and work-samples and books and anything else I can't do without. Unfortunately, I have to leave so much—my old toys, some of the bigger canvases, my screen. And it's not like I can have Mom ship them or anything. I'm leaving a letter for my family, but I'm not telling them where I'm going. 18 years under constant scrutiny is enough, I really don't want to carry any of that CRAP with me into my new life._

_Strangely enough, when I was packing this morning, I suddenly remembered something I'd forgotten a long time ago. When I was a kid, I kept all my drawings in a box in the floorboards so my Dad wouldn't find them and berate me for wasting my time. The box was right where I put it, more than six years ago. I didn't feel like looking at any of the drawings right away, so I wrapped the box up and stuck it in my bag. I'll open it when I get to Venice. I don't think this is the right time for nostalgic reminiscence about my childhood, but I'm glad I remembered to pack the box. So, tonight's the night. I'm sneaking out of here at 4 AM to catch the train to Greenvale and from there on to the BIG CITY itself—Newport. At dinner tonight, I'll see Mom, Dad, Daniel and Owen for the last time in a long while. I don't really care if I ever see Dad again but I feel sorry for Mom. She doesn't seem to care much for me but I know she'll miss me and I know she'll feel very guilty for turning a blind eye to the way he treated me throughout all those years. As for Danny and Owen, I don't really know. Danny's an asshole—he could (theoretically) improve though I doubt he wants to. As for Owen-he's still a kid, he might turn out okay but as long as Dad's in control, I'm not too optimistic..._

_I'm going to the pond tonight to say goodbye. I haven't been there in a long while, not since that CRAZY day. Well, I have to see it one last time or I'll never get it out of my head. As for my friends, I don't really want to say anything. I'll mail them when I get to Newport. To Venice._

_So, this is the last entry I'll write in this house, in this room. In some strange way I can't really understand, I'll miss it. Not much, but I did grow up here, I did spend 18 years...oh my god...in this place, and that's not soon forgotten or ignored. I don't want to feel bad for what I'm doing but I can't help it, I do feel bad a little. But more than anything I'm excited about what tomorrow will bring. I think—yeah, I believe I might actually be happy! ...imagine that..._

_Friday, July 28 2209_

_Way too early in the morning...and I won't even TRY to describe the dream I had last night. Like enough with the fairy-tales already! I need to start dreaming about boys and shopping...you know, the important things in life. _

_It just dawned on me that the student exhibition opens in less than two weeks! My 'painting' - and I mean that in the broadest sense of the word - is not even close to being presentable. Even that's an overstatement. All I have is a blank canvas and while that may fool SOME people (like in "whoa, what an expressive statement of NOTHINGNESS"), it won't fool my teachers._

_So today I have to put in a solid six hours of work at the studio and just hope that inspiration will strike me like lightning from the sky. It could happen._

April was about to close her diary when a loose sheet of paper slipped out between the pages. She pulled it out and was delighted to find it was her timesheet from the café. It was a list of the hours she had worked the past week at the cafe. She had completely forgotten she had put it in there. Good thing she found it, because she was broke. The diary went into her pack. She had better changed if she wanted to go to the studio and opened the small wardrobe. It was almost bare except for a grey suitcase. She could only carry one suitcase with her when she left home. There was so much she would love to bring but C'est la vie. At least it was a clean break with her past. She guess when all her hard work started paying off, she would get a house and fill it with all kinds of new junk. The past—who needed it? A sheaf of papers lay untidily in a round box at the bottom. A bunch of drawings she had drawn when she was a kid. She was not sure why she brought them with her. They meant absolutely nothing to her, a bunch of useless old drawings she should have dumped a long time ago.

An empty cardboard box which she should have discarded sat in a corner with a brightly colored toy perched on top. She could not bring herself to throw away useless things when she knew she should. The toy was constable Guybrush, her toy monkey or ape. He did not much like being called a "monkey". In addition to being an ape, constable Guybrush played drums in the Toyburg police corps marching band. Constable Guybrush was also a strange hybrid between man, ape and musician. In addition to being an officer of the law, of course. But one of her favorite figures in any case. The mechanism began to make a din as she wound it up. It could be mildly amusing, but irritating as hell with the ruckus it was making. She shut down the toy and noticed one of its eyes was falling out. It could probably be repaired but she had no adhesive at hand. But she could easily do that at the studio. The toy went into her pack.

Whatever clothes she had hung limply on the hangers. Her wardrobe was sort of chic-deficient but she could not afford to be cutting edge. "Useful, practical and cheap" was her shopping mantra. When fame and wealth come knocking, she would buy a wardrobe the size of an ocean liner and fill it with clothes for a million bucks. Right then, she would try to focus on her work. Work! She was definitely ready to start off her day. She had better head over to the studio to do some work. Only two weeks until the big show opened and her contribution was in serious need of attention. She stepped out into the hallway where a slick looking guy standing outside his room opposite hers struck up a conversation.

_The perfect way to start the day, _she thought sourly. _Zack just…ugh. _

"Hey, babe," Zack said. "Babe, you're looking real sexy today." It took April all her self-control not to roll her eyes or sock him in the throat. She'd met her fair share of assholes, and Zack Lee was no exception. Nobody in the Border House fancied his company; his only company was his gang with whom he constantly got drunk and partied with and the occasional girl whom he would pick up and take home for the night. April couldn't count how many times she'd been absolutely disgusted hearing their moans of pleasure from across the room. _The day he moves out of here is the best day of my life. _

"Zack, listen," she told him, trying to get away from him as soon as she could. "I've gotta run, and—"

He took no time cutting to the chase. "What's going on, April? How you been?" She stared at him in disbelief. From the moment he'd moved into the Border House, he'd set his sights on her. According to him, she was "too sexy a babe not to spend a night with me". Every time he opened his mouth, she dreaded what he'd have to say.

"I was doing just fine until you came along," she said irritably.

"What's that?" asked Zack. "Hey, listen, I was thinking maybe you and I could hook up tonight, go to the Pavillion or something. We could pop a few Raptures, do a little close dancing. How about it?"

"No," April declined. "That's not going to work, Zack."

"What?" he demanded. "You got something against me, babe? Do I offend you in some way?" _Why, yes. Yes you do. _

"Oh…_no_!" she protested. "I just…I really don't think it's a good idea for us to be—together, like that." _Or together at all, for that matter. Jesus Christ. _

He shrugged as if it was no big deal. "Hey, whatever. You'll come crawling back when you realize your mistake, babe. I'm outta here." With a smirk, he went into his room, shutting the door behind him. April ran a hand over her face in exasperation.

"What an asshole," she muttered to herself. She sighed. There were a total of four apartments on her floor. Zack's room was directly opposite hers. She had never been in there and she prayed she never would. The last door near the staircase was Charlie's apartment which was twice as big as hers, with a private bathroom and a huge bed. She guessed he liked his creature comforts. On the ground floor, Fiona, her landlady, was lounging as usual on the sofa in the common room. The ceiling fan was rotating very slowly in the heat. Proper air-conditioning was apparently never a viable alternative for the contractor.

The common room was small, boasting of a sofa; they really knew how to design tacky furniture back in the late twenty-second century. And what was supposedly to be a coffee table that Emma had picked up at a flea market for ten dollars last month. To her, that was nine dollars more than it was worth for there were peeled patches on the surface. She peeked through the window next to the sofa, the window with a nice view of the bridges of Venice in fact, to see that they were deserted. She picked up a matchbook from the Fringe Cafe she had thrown carelessly on the coffee table some days before and put it into her pack. She had brought it back with the intention of doing something with it for her project and forgot about it. The omnipresent Screen was currently running through a slew of advertisements. She did not know how it worked but all the data apparently passed through tiny little black holes in the fabric of the dimension. That really freaked her out when she thought about it.

She decided to check the corkboard. A big poster from the Fringe Cafe announced_: Annual Summer Blowout! the Fringe Cafe, Friday August 4, 8 PM. Free food! Live performances by Ron Dale, Harlequin Masquerade. The Gogetters! Tickets available the bar! $10 only! Spread the word! _

Someone had tacked a picture of a football star behind the poster. Probably one of the female boarders. Big sweaty jocks did not turn her on. She would take a nerd any day. A small pink note was pinned next to the jockey picture. April removed the pushpin, pocketed it and took down the note to read: _Found a gold ring under the common room sofa, if it's yours, let me know ... but no false claims please! Fiona_

She couldn't help but recall how she'd lost a gold ring a few weeks ago. Perhaps this was the one? She turned around and approached Fiona. "Good morning, Fiona," she greeted.

"Good morning, darling," Fiona responded warmly. "You're up early." She nodded slowly, taking a seat across from her.

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

"Are you feeling all right? You look a little pale." April met her eyes, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I had a bad nightmare," April said.

"Again?" Fiona pressed. "Well, you're not the only one, darling. Mickey woke me up screaming in the middle of the night. She wouldn't go to sleep until I made her a cup of herbal tea." April smiled slightly at the mention of Fiona brewing tea for Mickey. Fiona and Mickey were in a serious relationship; they had been together ever since April had moved to Venice.

"I don't know why I have nightmares," she told her. "I guess they could be stress-related." She shook her head. "I don't feel like talking about it at the moment." She remembered the note regarding the ring, and handed it to her. "I saw this note on the board. I think the ring might belong to me."

"Oh, yes. I found it under the sofa when I was vacuuming," Fiona said, and handed her the ring. "Here, darling."

"Thank you," said April. "It's not worth much, but it's got a certain…sentimental value for me, you know?"

"It's a very pretty ring."

April nodded. "Yeah, it is. My dad never gave me anything pretty, before or since. He must've won a poker game or something that day. You know what's strange? I don't hate him. He's a bastard and he treated me like crap almost every single day of my life but I don't hate him. I feel sorry for him." Her father was a tender subject, and she didn't like talking about him often.

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't know how to love," she explained. "He can't love anybody or anything. And because he'll be miserable every second of every minute of every day until the day he dies. God, I'm glad that life is behind me. I hope I never have to see him again. No, that doesn't sound right. I've made a choice not to see him again. Ever."

She put away the ring, nodded a farewell to Fiona and took her leave. At the front door steps of the Border House, she turned to look at the mural painted on the front facade of the building. She loved the mural, even though the motif was a little trite: fairy-tale forests and magical dragons? Still, it was pretty. She wondered what happened to the artist. Probably making a bundle from cheesy fantasy. On a bench in front of the Border House sat an old man with a ponytail, dressed in an outdated mountain man shirt, reading his book. The old man was Cortez. He sat in the same spot almost every day. She would hate to admit it, but he scared her a little.

Pipes protruding from the side of the building gurgled as water rushed through them. From the little she knew of local history, they were hundreds of years old, installed way back when Venice was an industrial area. As such, bits and pieces of metal were flaking away from the bridges and in most parts of Venice. It was a miracle they were still working, rusty as they were. Rust was the very definition of Venetian architecture, that and stinky canals, so corroding metal could be seen on the older structures. Venice would not be the same without rust, it would be like San Francisco without the hills, Paris without the cafes. Venice may not be the same without rust. It would be better. But not the same.

The machine attached to the pipes had so many contraptions she was not sure what was what. A mystifying and completely absurd contraption to her eyes. All those valves and wheels and thing-a-majigs. What grand purpose did it all serve? It made no sense to her. The machine was apparently not working. A clamp was clipped to a cracked pipe. She surmised that it was the water-pump for the Border House and decided to leave it alone. _I should get to the academy. _

April passed by the bench when Cortez looked up at her. "Oye, senorita!" he called. She turned to face him.

"Yes?" she said expectantly. _Surely it wouldn't hurt to talk to him for a bit, _she mused.

"How are you this morning, senorita bomita?" Cortez inquired. She sneaked a look at her watch; she needed all the time she could get so she could get her painting ready and done.

"I'm sorry, but I have to run," she told him. She had only taken a few steps when he said, "_Espera_! Hold on. Even if you keep running all day you'll still be just as unhappy. You are troubled by nightmares."

_What the hell? _April whirled on him, startled. "What?" she demanded.

"You are afraid of them," Cortez continued. "You even fear your dreams may be real." Her temper flared. How the hell did he know? Had Zack told him about them? If she'd been shouting in her sleep, he would definitely know she'd been having nightmares, unless he'd been too busy pleasuring a girl to take notice.

"Who told you about my nightmares?" she questioned angrily.

"No one," he said. "I can tell from looking into your eyes. I see the ghosts that haunt you." _First my nightmares, putting up with Zack's bullshit, and now this? _

"I don't know who you've been talking to, but from now on, _stay the hell away from me and my personal life_!" spat April.

"No _puedo,_ senorita Ryan," said Cortez calmly. "You have a destiny." She shook her head in denial.

"Destiny?" she retorted. "I don't care what you think, just—just leave me alone!"

"If you don't face them, I'm afraid your nightmares will continue," he warned her. "Soon, they will appear to you when you're awake."

"You need some serious help, you know that?" Instead of a heated response, he remained calm and levelheaded.

"We all do, April," he said. "That's why we're here, you and me." She turned away from him, and tried to get a hold on her temper.

"That's it, I don't need to listen to this!"

"_Perdoname_, I've upset you," Cortez tried again. "We didn't think you'd react this way. I hope we can talk soon?"

She shook her head vigorously. No way in hell, not after what he'd just told her. "I don't think so, no."

"Please, think about it. And senorita? _Cuidado._ Be careful."

* * *

A young man with a colorful crest of green and red rising from the middle of his shaved head, ambled with little skips from the subway. The smaller residences bordering the bridges were overshadowed by skyscrapers that towered overhead. Streams of hovercraft flowed busily in the sky overhead and large transports glided quietly by a chimney belching thick heavy smoke. An ancient clock stood forlorn and silent in the center of the bridges. Its rusty needle pointing to the numeral four. From what she had been told, the clock stopped on the very day of the infamous Venice massacre in 2109, to the minute when the police opened fire on the squatters.

The bridges were a nuisance at best as they wound in a roundabout way. Picking up her speed, she trotted to the stairs leading to the park. A train rumbled by on the railway tracks of a bridge running through the park, breaking the serenity of the place. Nothing added more to the tranquility of a city park than a huge rusty iron bridge. The freight trains passed by at least once every five minutes, all day long. One got used to it though. Eventually. A dry fountain stood in the middle of the park. The usual denizens of the park were already there: a homeless man napping on one of the park benches, an old man sat musing at nothing and a young woman on her morning workouts. The aspiring artist was already at work on his canvas. She had seen him out there, all day long, all year. He never stopped painting. Ever. And she doubted that he had ever finished even one painting. The park also had some strange objects. Like a strange archaic metal container with intricate designs on the top that she could not even begin to guess what it was supposed to be. A blocky statue with no discernable features stood like a block next to the dry fountain. Very cubist. And not her style at all.

She made her way up the path to the academy; the Venice Academy of the Visual Arts. World renowned. Prestigious. Expensive. And her future alma mater. If all went well with the exhibition and she got her grant. Painted on the front facade of the first floor was the portrait of Mary Samm, VAVA's founding mother and pro-Venice activist back, before the riots. She was assassinated by a corporate hired gun right after the school opened, some ninety years ago. Two flags swayed gently in the breeze above the entrance. A couple of students stood chatting near the noticeboard; Bishop and Ann-Marie. He was a photography student, she was in her life study class. Nice couple.

She hurried into the building and to the studio. A student was already working on his project. It was Olav, on a roll again. The guy never ever seemed to run out of inspiration or energy. Must be the cold Norwegian winters. Nothing else to do but paint. She looked over his shoulder to see he was painting something very Van Gogh-ish. With just a hint of Munch. Very nice. She moved away quietly as she did not want to disturb him. The shelves in the studio were stacked with books and a row of sinks lined the wall below it. They were all art books with a really nice one on Turner. She loved his landscapes.

As she headed for the stairs leading to the upper floor, she noticed a rubber glove someone had thrown away, hanging over the edge of the wastepaper basket. _Why would somebody toss out a perfectly good work glove with just one big hole in it? What a terrible, terrible waste_! Thinking she might have a use for it, she picked it up and dumped it into the satchel as she trotted quickly up the stairs.

More art books, along with cans of acrylic and oil paints, lined the wall shelves on the upper level. She had browsed through all of them, looked at the pictures, but she had much preferred to see paintings in real life. There were books on color, composition and even one on duck hunting. Sketchbooks belonging to some of the other students who shared the place were also filed away on the shelves. Her own sketchbooks were similarly piled among the lot. Those were some of her most recent sketches. Unfortunately, they served only as a barren testament to her lack of inspiration. Two sinks were fixed below the shelves. They were as old as the building itself but at least they had been renovated quite recently.

She stopped to admire Emma's holosculpture which looked like some winged creature twirling brilliantly in the light. It was her contribution to the exhibition. Emma was really good with the holosculptor, and her imagination was so vivid. She had no idea, though, what it was, and neither, apparently, did Emma but it looked absolutely beautiful. Good thing they were best friends or she might be jealous.

No point in putting off the inevitable, she picked up the tools of her trade from the sink. Her paintbrush and palette. What more could a girl need? Maybe a blank canvas, a handsome nude model and six hours of uninterrupted...painting? The best thing about working up there was that nobody "borrowed" her stuff. She looked morosely at her canvas. The fruits of her labor amounted to nothing at all. She could only think of two things more depressing than a blank canvas. Death and taxes. Dipping her paintbrush into the paint, she began to paint. She paid no note to the shadows shifting and shortening in the moving sun. The sound of footsteps up the stairs and halting behind her brought her round. It was Emma.

"Hiya!" she said.

"Emma?" April turned around to face her. "Hi! I didn't expect to see you today."

"Me neither," Emma admitted. "Are you busy?" April glanced towards her painting. It looked pretty good for something done at the last minute.

"No," she said. "Well, I am, but I was about to wrap up for today anyway. Why? What's going on?" She expected it to be another last minute detail about the exhibition.

"I have an important message for you," her friend informed her. April hoped it wasn't from her mother; after she'd chosen to move to Venice, her mother had been an emotional wreck, begging and pleading for her to come back home. She couldn't do that, she couldn't go home. All it brought to her were bad memories, things she wanted to put in her past for good. Her life was here in Venice now.

"What's the message?" Emma looked as if she'd just won the lottery; she was glowing with excitement.

"Not even close, girlfriend. It's from Cortez," she said. April was startled. Cortez? What did he want with her?

"Cortez?" she echoed doubtfully.

Emma nodded. "Yup. He said to tell you to meet him 'where children visualize their dreams'." _Visualize their dreams…visualize their dreams. _

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Me?" countered Emma. "I was hoping you would know." _Being the one on the receiving end. _The words hung in the air, unsaid.

"Did he say anything else?"

"No," she answered. "That was it. Why does he want to meet you? Oh, don't tell me—you guys are having a secret love affair!"

"Oh yeah!" April laughed. "We're eloping and flying to Africa tonight! It's all been happening…so fast! My heart's aflutter!" She feigned swooning, and the two of them burst into laughter.

"How romantic," Emma sighed. "I couldn't imagine a better catch than Senor Cortez, the Latin lover."

"Did he talk to you about nightmares?" There was no avoiding the question. Cortez knew of her vivid dreams; since he'd given the message to Emma, surely he'd mentioned them to her.

Emma's demeanor changed from joking to concerned and curious. "No, why?"

"I don't know. It's just…my dreams are really starting to bother me," confessed April.

"There you go again with dreams," said Emma exasperatedly. "You're _obsessing_, April. Sometimes a banana is just a banana."

"Do you want to hear about my dreams or not?" She felt a slight pang of irritation towards her friend. Emma was a good friend, but sometimes she just didn't understand.

"Sure, go on. Like anything I could possibly say discourage you?"

"…Even if there's a dragon involved?" April blurted.

"Especially if there's a…dragon? You had a dream about a dragon?" Emma said, just as confused by it as she was. "April, that's pretty sad. Was it a magical dragon?"

"It was a talking dragon."

"I think that qualifies as a magic dragon. You know, I can't wait to hear this." _Here it goes, _April thought to herself.

"Well…there was a dragon."

"I think we established that already," Emma said dismissively. "You had a dream about a dragon."

"Not just any dragon. A talking dragon."

"We've been through that. Talking dragon, covered. What'd it say?"

"She. It was a she. A female dragon."

Emma raised her eyebrows. 'What, you could tell from the skirt, high heels and lipstick?"

"Don't mock me, Emma," April snapped. "She said something to me, something about being the mother of the future."

"She probably said 'time to get up and go to school, April,'" she suggested. April felt the last of her patience slip away. _Why do I even bother? _

"If you don't want to take my dreams seriously, I'll just stop telling you about them," she said crossly. Emma sighed before changing topics.

"I'm starving. You want to go get some lunch at the Fringe?" she queried.

April shook her head. "No, I'm not that hungry. I haven't had that much of an appetite these days, to be frank."

"You really should eat something, April," said Emma. "Today's special is tortellini, so think about it? I'll be hanging out there for a while."

"I'll think about it," she answered. "See you later?"

"Sure! Bye!" As Emma left, April put her palette and paintbrush back on the sink. As she washed her hands, the holosculpture behind her suddenly blazed into life. It solidified into flesh, streaks of light and shadow rippling gently like water across its back, its wing-like arms stretching forth towards April. Sensing movement behind her, she whirled around. She stumbled back against the sink in shock. As quickly as it had moved, the holosculpture returned to its original form. _What. The hell. Was that? _

* * *

Olav had already gone when she went downstairs. The academy was almost deserted except for a girl with light pink hair outside the building. The park was more populated with people taking their breaks for lunch. At the bridges, two woebegone young skaters stood glumly by as a police officer brandished his weapon to emphasis his lecture. She was not surprised those guys were in trouble. They should have known that skateboarding was strictly prohibited in Newport. The Fringe cafe was located just after the canal. A huge black rusty metallic ball with chains attached to it rested on some metal gratings above the canal. It reminded her of the Death Star from Star Wars; "Let's blow this thing and go home!" It definitely deserved to be blown.

Nobody knew where the canal tunnel near the cafe went. It was not important anyway. Already, there were customers at the cafe. Backpackers lounged lazily at a table. It amazed her why backpackers flocked to Newport. They surely would have the good sense to stick to India, Australia and the near-Earth colonies. A pair of lovebirds were engrossed with each other seated at the next table. To her, people should have the good sense to do that kind of stuff behind closed doors. At least, as long as she did not have a boyfriend. The signboard above the cafe was already lighted up. "The Fringe Cafe" was her home away from home. She really did not mind working there. It was a nice place. It ranked "nice" on a scale from "begging for food" at the bottom to "just scraping by" at the top. She did not intend to make a career of it however. The building to the left of the cafe looked as dead as a doornail as usual. She had never ever seen anybody passed through that door. Which was peculiar. And if she was Nancy Drew, she might actually care.

The temperature in the cafe was a stark contrast to the heat outside. Her good friend Charlie was polishing glasses behind the bar, his back to the entrance. He was the first person she met when she came to Venice, and she loved him dearly. As a friend. The smell of imported draft beer hovered strongly around the bar. She was not a beer person, though. She preferred a glass of white wine or a cup of steaming mocha. She debated on snitching a few candy from the jar of complimentary assorted colorful candy on the bar top. No doubt also extremely toxic. For paying customers only. Stanley had a habit of taking it out of anyone's salary if they got the munchies. She decided on getting a couple although Stanley was sitting at the other end of the bar, near the jukebox. His view, however, was blocked by a burly man drinking beer. She was sure Stan would not notice if she dug gently into his supply. He had got crates of them in the back. Still, she waited until Stanley's view was well and truly obstructed before pocketing a few of the candy.

"Hey, Charlie!" she said. Charlie turned to her, a warm smile lightening his features. April smiled back at him; Charlie, if anything, was her rock. Not that she held anything against Emma. There was just something…special about him.

"April, hey!" he exclaimed, walking over to her. "Nice to see you, girl. I came to wake you this morning, but you'd already left. Early bird catches the worm?"

"No. Early bird finishes the damn painting on time." Charlie laughed. "Hey, have you seen Cortez around?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," he replied. "He was asking for you."

"He asked about me?" _Jesus, what more does he want? _

"Yeah, where you were," Charlie went on. "I told him to give it to Emma, since she'd be more likely to bump into you."

"I got it, but I have no idea what it means," she admitted.

"Cortez can be a little strange. He seemed interested in the poster next to the jukebox. They put it up earlier today," said Charlie.

"I need to get going," April told him. "I'll see you around, okay?"

"Take care, all right?" he reminded her. April nodded. She spotted her friends, Marcus and Emma relaxing and chatting near the jukebox. Marcus was really Emma's friend. He was a VAVA student as well. When Emma was not working, or out on a date, she was always hanging out here, just like her. Just like all of them. Stanley was hard to miss, as he was wearing a bright vermillion shirt that stood out in the gloom. The jukebox by the wall was playing techno jazz music. According to Stan, it was an original - almost two hundred years old. It looked like a replica to her however. A good replica, but still... It took some convincing but Stan finally agreed to put the jukebox on free play. She would just choose a track at random. Recalling Charlie's words on Cortez's interest in the poster advertisement by the jukebox, she scrutinized it as a new track began to play.

_Roma Gallery present 'Growing Pain'—an exhibition by and for kids and teenagers_

Could this be what Cortez was talking about, where kids visualized their dreams? It might be it. But where was the Roman Gallery located? She noticed a ticket pinned to the poster_. Complimentary student pass_. She liked anything that was complimentary. She never said no to a complimentary ticket. To her delight, an address was printed on the ticket. The gallery was located near the Watertown Bridge. That was all the way over in West Venice, if she remembered correctly. She would have to catch the Metro Line subway to get there. Thinking she might be hungry later, she pocketed a small fresh bread loaf from the bread basket on the table before her. She loved the food at the cafe. They had a great kitchen. Recalling Charlie's reminder about getting paid, she decided to buttonhole Stanley, who seemed to know she was coming on a particular errand. His thick eyebrows beetled at her as she coughed to get his attention.

"What you doing here?" he demanded.

"I'd like to get paid," she said immediately. "I have my timesheet with me." Stanley snatched the paper from her with a scowl.

"Did I sign this? What was I thinking?" He shook his head in disgust. "It doesn't look like it's been forged. Next week, honey. I'll write down this amount in my ledger, don't you worry your head from it."

_Next week? No, no, no. _"I need the money now, Stanley," she told him.

"It ain't gonna happen," he said. "Next week, I tell you." April stared at him. There were times when she couldn't tolerate him as her boss, and this was one of them. If the circumstances were different, she would've been fine with waiting a week before getting her payment.

"No. Forget that, I quit!" she burst out angrily.

"You can't quit. You work for me!" Stanley protested. "Damn woman—you know how hard it is to find people to take a crappy job like this one? I need you!"

"Just as much as you need the money?" she shot back. He sighed.

"All right, Jesus. I give you your damn money. What was it—fifty bucks?"

"Three hundred and seventy five dollars, Stanly. _Cash_."

"I pay you guys way too much. Give me your CC," he said, and April gave him her cashcard. "Hey, are you free tonight? Sandra, she out sick and I need a replacement, pronto."

_Why not? _"Yeah, I could use the money." Stanley cracked a small smile.

"Great, hon," he said. "I'll see you later tonight. Don't forget."

She regretted having to go out under the hot sun again. Litter was strewn all over the ground, an old rusty iron gate that read "East Venice" pointed the way to the subway. Another similar gate with an old sign, "Newport Waterworks", led to the park. It was strange to think that the whole area was once an industrial park. It was deserted except for a young woman reading a commemorative plaque commemorating the Venice massacre of 2109 set by the park gate. It read_: In honor of those who died defending our right to live_.

A white cube logo sat atop the subway roof. Newport Transit System. It was not one system anymore. All the different lines were owned by different companies. The current station, the Metro Line, was run by Bokamba/Mercer. She trotted down the stairs to the underground subway station and paused before a pair of electronic gates. The gates scanned everybody who went in and out of the station, and compared their genetic signature with the database. If the fare was not paid, the alarm would go off and the cops showed up. She decided to get a weekly pass. A scanning eye protruded as she made her selection. It hummed, whirled and chirped as it read the cashcard she placed before it and a scanning device slide out and ran the scanning light over her.

The gates chimed as she passed through them. A squeaky voice announced the arrival of a train over the P.A. She did not brush her teeth that morning just so she could be fried bacon with a pretty smile. The train arrived then, so she hurried into it. The carriage was empty except for an old lady sitting aft. She elected to stand as posters and litter were scattered on the seats and floor. Graffiti wandered all along the walls of the carriages. The ubiquitous screens flickered dully. There was no escape. Anywhere. She looked at the subway map overhead and wondered how long the journey would take.

* * *

Loud music and the beat of a solitary drum greeted her as she exited from the Watertown subway. A dazed looking woman stood rocking unsteadily on her feet next to a busker outside the building next to the subway. Another victim of Amathin. The source of the loud music blared from the small portable boombox at the busker's feet. It was amazing that such a small box could emanate so much noise. The busker was hitting his drum to the music but he was sadly out of sync. It was not surprising really, the poor guy was drugged out on Amathin too. They said the first motor function to suffer was always rhythm. A man stood looking through the glass panel of the building, tapping his foot impatiently. She looked around for the Roma Gallery and realized that it was right in front of her. As the door of the gallery closed behind her, the blaring music was cut off abruptly. In its place was the stentorian snores of a napping attendant seated by the entrance. April slid her ticket under the folder on the table; he wasn't waking up anytime soon.

She glanced through the glass of the front window and the sight was a little depressing. There was absolutely nothing out there. There was a city, an entire world, even. But to her, it meant nothing. On display were statues placed around the gallery. The one near the table was an atypical pointy-edged swan, the second statue stumped her, she did not understand what it was supposed to represent; a short, nude creature with a snout? All sizes of various paintings were mounted on the wall. As she looked through them, she spotted Cortez at the end of the gallery. For the life of her, she could not figure out why Cortez wanted to meet her. Come to think of it, why did she want to meet him? She approached him, and he faced her.

"About time you showed up," he said.

"About time?" April cried. "I spent more than—" He cut her off quickly.

"Mira—this painting, right here. Look." April looked at the painting. A beautiful dark haired woman was in a romantic embrace with her lover, but there was a sense of sadness to it. "What do you see?"

She saw illusion, and she saw truth and technique, and a statement on loss. _No wonder looking at it makes me feel depressed. What am I even looking for? _"Truth? Illusion?"

"Truth, exactly," Cortez said. "A deeper truth. This painting, this particular work of art, speaks of a deeper truth. It has a soul."

_A soul? _"How can a painting have a soul?" April asked slowly.

"It has a soul because it has an identity, it has a heart. The memory of this painting will survive beyond this moment, it will linger in your mind, become part of the tapestry of your subconscious. It has made a lasting impression on you, and you're not quite sure why," he told her. Where the hell was he getting all of this? He knew nothing about her.

"It's just a painting by some kid," she disputed. "It's not as if it's a Picasso or a Monet."

"Now you're arguing technique," said Cortez. "Not every painting by Van Gogh or Michellangelo is real art either, although they all demonstrate great technique and craftsmanship. And the scribbled drawings of a five-year old child are rarely technically impressive, but they may still have a soul, they may still be real art." April's head was beginning to hurt. What did this have to do with anything? Had Cortez honestly called her down to have a deep, meaningful discussion about art? It took her a few moments before she regained her train of thought.

"So you're saying 'real art' is not defined by the skill of the artist?" she pressed. "Then what is art, if just anybody can create something more 'real' than artists who've spent their entire lives developing their skills?"

"Art is still the work of artists. And skill, craftsmanship, technique - those things are critical to the success of the artist's work. But alone, those things are merely pretense. For something to be real, to be truthful, the artist must transfer - shift - part of him or her into the work to transcend the illusion and reach for the truth of art."

"And what is the truth of art?"

"Who knows? I've been asking myself that question for years," he countered. April's temper sparked at his words.

"Excuse me? You don't even know? Then what's all this about, all the questions and lectures on 'truth' and "illusion'? For that matter, why did you ask me to come down here in the first place?" she demanded.

"Because—"

"Actually, you didn't even ask me to come down! I spent my entire afternoon travelling all over Venice, deciphering a cryptic message, spending money I don't have on a subway ticket, only to have to stand here and listen to…to this!" She heard her voice rising, and she took deep breaths to try to calm herself.

Cortez met her eyes. "You saw something this afternoon. A waking dream. And you can't explain it. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"How the hell do you know these things?"

"It's as plain as the day, senorita Ryan," he said. "You're under a lot of stress. My point about art and truth is this, April. Some things look real, but are not. And other things may appear to be of no consequences at all, but are, in fact, invaluable. Like Warren's painting here. And your dreams. There is both truth and illusion in dreams, and in the images they create. The problem is in sorting the one from the other."

April felt her heart stop. "You're telling me that my dreams are true?" she said quietly, subdued. Cortez shook his head.

"I'm telling you there are things afoot," he explained, "and that you need help in sorting the truth from illusions. My help."

"That figures," she said bitterly.

"Good. I was hoping you'd understand." April ran a hand over her face in frustration. This had been a waste of time.

"No, actually I didn't understand a single word," she said angrily. "You talk about art, and truth, and dreams, and illusion, and I still don't understand what it all has to do with me. There are things happening, yes, and I came here because I thought - maybe you're crazy enough to believe me to help me...I don't know...sort through the debris and come up with a plausible explanation. But no, you tell me my dreams might be true, that I need your help and that there are things 'afoot'. I mean, who says 'afoot'? I've never heard anybody use that word before. 'There are things afoot'." She expected him to be angry with her now, or frustrated—but no. He still retained his calm demeanor; if he was exasperated, he was hiding it well.

"Esta bien," he said. "I understand your reluctance to believe me, senorita. But I cannot convince you here, now. Meet me tomorrow."

"What?"

"Meet me tomorrow," he repeated, "and I will tell you everything." She shook her head vehemently. _No, no, no, no. _

"Not again, Cortez," April said. "No."

"But you will. Because you are compelled to do so by your own curiosity. Because you are drawn to mystery. And because, despite your skepticism, you believe I have the answer to all your questions. Yes?"

"No!" she denied. "No, I don't care. I just want to have a normal life, no nightmares, no visions, and no strangers telling me that 'things are afoot'. _Comprende,_ amigo?" Cortez stole a glance at his watch.

"Is that the time?" he exclaimed. "I've got to run, senorita Ryan. I see you tomorrow, then?"

"I said—"

"Goodbye." Without another word, Cortez walked away, leaving April feeling worse than before. He was an enigma; he gave no answers, but only more questions and confusion. She didn't understand what the deeper meaning behind her study of the painting had been supposed to tell her, but did it matter now? No answers were coming to her, not now.

* * *

By the time she returned to East Venice, it was dusk and time to begin her shift at the Fringe Cafe. Stanley was already waiting for her. Customers began to trickle in. The cafe hummed with the sounds of voices, clinking glasses, dishes and the techno rock playing from the jukebox. Sometime near midnight, as she was taking down the order of a customer, the music from the jukebox fluttered into noisy static before dying away. Streaks of running lights on the jukebox coalesced blindingly, conversations and all movements in the cafe came to a startled halt. Everyone's attention was focused on the strange phenomenon. April gasped and Emma surged to her feet as a strange creature suddenly popped out from the light. Lilting piping music issued from the flute it held in its hands. April craned to see more clearly as the creature which looked like a mole with a luminous green aura danced merrily. It became aware of its surroundings and faltered to a stop, looking with wide terrified eyes at a place it no longer recognized, before vanishing as quickly as it'd appeared.


	3. Through the Looking Glass

April spent a rather sleepless night, replaying the vision over and over in her mind. As the sun rose, she opened the window to get a breath of air, hoping to distract herself and instantly regretted it as the breeze wafted the pong of the canal to her nose. She looked glumly at the pipes in the river. Whatever those pipes were spewing out, she was sure it was not water. A rusty chain dangled within reach, stretching from the roof into the water. She had no idea what the chain was for, but it was connected to some kind of mechanism at the bottom. She gave the chain an experimental tug but nothing happened as a rusty old grill was apparently obstructing it. A child's blue rubber swimming ring in the shape of a duck bobbed impotently on the scummy water under the grill. Perched on the edge of a lower wall lined with spikes, a seagull looked this way and that for food. The poor guy looked quite hungry.

Seeing the bird reminded her of the untouched loaf of bread she took from the Fringe Cafe. She crumbled some of the bread onto the grill. Some of the crumbs fell onto the rubber duck. With a cry, the bird flew down to the bounty. The crumbs disappeared quickly. As the seagull hopped to the rubber ring and pecked at the few remaining morsels, its sharp beak punctured the rubber. With a loud hiss of escaping air that frightened off the bird, the rubber duck shot off from under the grill into the canal tunnel. A loud clank resounded. A clothesline which stretched across from the opposite building to hers dropped along with the grill into the water. Thinking that someone might want it and hoping it might be caught on the chain, she pulled it again. With the grill gone, the chain moved easily. The dripping hook at the end dragged up the clothesline. Grimacing in disgust, she wringed it as dry as possible of the scummy water. As the day brightened further, she resolved to get answers to all the questions bugging her.

The corridor was deserted when she left her room. On the ground floor, Fiona stood looking out of the window instead of her customary lounge before the Screen; which had always been active ever since April arrived at Border House, but now stood dark and silent. A brooding troubled air hovered over its owner. "Fiona, are you okay?" she asked. Fiona turned to her, her eyes haunted.

"Did you ever question your own sanity, April?" Fiona countered. "I mean, did you ever wonder if you were going mad?"

"I'm certain I'm insane," she said. _After what I saw last night…I'd much rather be losing my mind than any other possible alternatives. _"Why? What's going on?"

"I-I saw something. I'm sure it wasn't holographic—it couldn't be. It was much too…vivid." April's curiosity and concern spiked. Her dreams were just as intense as whatever Fiona had experienced; they were dreams, but they'd felt too real, much too real to be mere dreams.

"What did you see?"

Fiona took a deep breath. "This room turned into a forest."

"What?" April gasped.

"It was like the forest came out of the Screen and into the room, like being in the middle of a Holotheatre but with added resolution, hallucinogenic effects...and...smells. It only lasted for a few seconds and then it all just...disappeared," she went on.

"Did anyone else see this?"

"Mickey did, but she refuses to speak of it. Says it was just our imagination acting up. Which leaves me wondering how long it'll take before I end up in a mental institution." She laughed humorlessly. "God, I hope there's a good explanation for all of this. Too many weird things have been happening lately."

"What else has been going on?" April pressed on.

"Little things," Fiona said. "Like movement in the corner of your eye that's gone when you turn your head. And noises, the kind you're not supposed to hear in the city. Animal noises. Wild animals. And once-this was very early in the morning, mind, a few days ago-I looked down into that canal and saw what looked like an underwater city. But as I looked at it, it dissolved into ripples of water."

"Scary." _I need to find Cortez so he can explain to me just what the hell is going on. _

"And you're telling me, darling? I'm scared of cockroaches, for God's sake. What do you think this does to my nerves?"

"Have you seen Cortez today?"

Fiona shook her head. "No, darling. I don't think he's around." _Dammit. _

"Do you have any idea where he might be?" she added.

"No, but Zack might…being the self-appointed film expert around here," Fiona suggested. "You should talk to him." _Great, just great. _

"Yeah, talk to Zack—my best friend in the world," April said sarcastically. "I guess I'll go talk to him." She turned away with a sigh and made her way upstairs to the corridor. She never imagined she would be doing this in a million years as she stood outside Zack's door. Taking a deep breath, she rapped on the door. Zack's surprise was total when he saw who was standing on his doorstep. His face quickly fell into its usual smirk as he quickly summed up the situation.

"Well, well," he said smugly. "What do you know? The princess comes knocking after all!"

"Just give me one good reason why I shouldn't knock you out," April snapped. She was frustrated with Cortez and his ambiguity and fearful of her visions, and she knew she was taking it out on Zack.

"Hey, was that a threat?" he retorted. "You think that's going to do you any good, babe?"

"Just do a one small favor for me, okay?" she countered.

"Give me a reason to, babe. First, you threaten to knock me out and now you want me to do shit for you," Zack said. "What the fuck?"

"A reason? You want a reason? How about a date?" April blurted.

He nodded slowly, contemplating her suggestion. "Yeah, good. Tonight at the Pavillion. Are you going to put out?"

She stiffened. "What?"

"I mean, if I'm going to use my VIP passes and my pills, babe, I just got to know if it'll be worth it or not. You on?" His eyes were alight with smug satisfaction. There was not a doubt in April's mind that he was reveling in his sexual fantasies with her. _I can't believe I just signed up for this. _

"We'll see, Zack."

"Just don't do a Houdini and vanish on me, babe. If you're a no-show, and I wait around for you all night, I end up looking like an asshole. And that wouldn't make me very happy."

"I'll be a good girl and show," she assured him.

"Smart. So, what do you want to know?" he asked. "How to please me later tonight?" She scowled at him. It seemed that almost all the time, sex was on his mind and it infuriated and sickened her. He was like Christian Grey in the flesh, but with an ego.

"Where can I find Cortez?"

"Cortez?" Zack said wonderingly. "I knew there was something going on between you guys." She shook her head.

"It's not what you think," she denied.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Hey, like I give a shit? You're with me tonight, and by tomorrow morning, I don't think you'll find that old creep so appealing anymore." _Yeah, well, Cortez isn't making advances on me every day and fantasizing about having sex with me. _

"So, where is Cortez?" she repeated.

"When he's not outside reading or whatever the hell he does, he's usually at the Mercury Theatre. They show old movies on real celluloid stock, through a projector. Like in the fucking middle ages."

"Where is this theatre?"

"I don't remember the street it's on - it's been ages since I was there last - but you'll find it if you head out the East Gateway from the Metro Circle. It's close to the Radio Power building, and there are tons of adult stores in the area. Actually, if you're not too busy, you could pick up something for us to watch tonight. Something really filthy," he said.

"Zack, I don't—"

"Hey, whatever!" he exclaimed. "I was just kidding, yeah? Babe, you've got a major bug up your ass. Get a fucking sense of humor, yeah?"

"…I'll keep that in mind," she said slowly. "Thanks for the info."

"Just be at the Pavillion by ten, okay? I don't like waiting around for babies like you. I've got a million better things to do. And it wouldn't be a good idea for you to ditch me. Not a good idea at all." With that threatening emphasis, he returned to his room. April wondered if it would be a good idea to tell him she had changed her mind there and then. _Probably not. He'd probably kick my ass. _

* * *

The city was the first thing she saw when she came to Newport. Its vivacity never ceased to amaze her. It teemed with the puissance of people, lights, sounds and technology. Towering buildings cast the streets into shadow, rays of sunshine threading their way through the gaps where they could. Hovercrafts dashed busily overhead and ground cars rumbled on the streets. Metro Circle glowed with the brilliantly lit signs on the fronts of the adult stores Zack had mentioned, vying for attention. The place was gloriously decadent. A particularly bold large blue sign proclaiming "Sextasy" caught her eye. Sexual fantasy. Just the thing she need to feel really depressed about her love life. She had heard Bingo! was planning to buy the whole thing, converting it into a theme park or something. She would believe it when she saw it.

Fashionably dressed individuals and couples loitered around the subway. There were none near a police officer standing guard at the elevator tubes of a building. The elevator tubes provided access to the mid and upper levels of Newport. She would need proper ID before she could use them, which was unlikely to happen. She moved off to East Gateway. Papers fluttered and cans rolled in the gutters in the wake of the ground cars along the street. A man strolled up to a prostitute at the street corner where they had a brief discussion before moving off in the direction of a nightclub across the street. Loud music blared from the premises and the throng of people was thick. It was a popular place. But it was not her crowd though. Two men stood talking outside, ignoring an unconscious man lying on the ground. A shifty-looking fellow loitered nearby, leaning against the street lamp. Most likely he was selling something. Counterfeit, triple-strength Raptures, probably. Highly addictive and guaranteed to blow the mind. Literally.

As she turned the corner, the stench of alcoholic fumes hit her. A drunken bum sat outside a liquor store, swigging from a bottle. The guy was probably the reason they invented the phrase "hitting the bottle". And he was hitting it hard. At least he was not doing Amathin. She found what she was looking for further down the street. The theatre looked archaic and dilapidated with a lighted marquee spelling out "Mercury". The word "theatre" was left out, but maybe that was self-explanatory. She tried the front door; much to her surprise, it was open. She hurried inside.

She heard voices as she walked into the empty dark theatre, the only light coming from the projector at the back and the screen. Cortez, seated in the third row, did not seem to have noticed her presence, apparently engrossed in the movie. She sat down silently beside him. "You have no idea what I went through to find you," she began. "First—"

"Do you like movies?" Cortez asked. The question derailed her for a moment before she gathered her thoughts again.

"Sure," she shrugged. "Who doesn't? Wait, I was trying to tell you—"

"I don't much like modern movies myself. They're either too loud and expensive, or too obscure and self-indulgent. But old movies - really old movies - have a charm and a simplicity that appeals to me."

April felt frustration rear its head again. "Listen, please don't interrupt me again. It's starting to piss me off."

"But I have never interrupted you! Unless I've had something important to say, of course. But go ahead. What is it you want to talk about?"

"Why did you make me search all over the city for you?" she asked. "It would've saved me lots of time." He met her eyes.

"Search for me?" he countered. "I've been here for hours, senorita. I haven't moved. The question ought to be, what made you go out of your way to find me?"

"I need answers, Cortez," she said. "Weird things have been happening, and it's starting to get to me."

"I apologize for being so hard to locate today, but I had to...lay low for a few hours."

"Are you a fugitive?" April asked, incredulous. "Why are the cops after you?"

"No, senorita. Not the police. There are bigger players than the police," he said cryptically.

"I don't wanna know. I'm not getting mixed up with the mob or gangs or anything like that," she told him. Nothing good came out of involvement with gangs. Almost anyone would know that.

"There's not much you want to get mixed up in, is there?" The question wasn't accusatory.

"My life is complicated enough as it is, Mr. Cortez," April informed him. "I don't even know what I'm doing here."

"Answers, April," he said. "You want—need—answers."

"You keep telling me that, but you never give me any answers. Just more questions. Like who's out to get you? What's going on with me? How come you know so much about me?" Her words came tumbling out. She was tired of being kept in the dark.

"I plan to answer all your questions today, April. By the time you go to sleep tonight, your world will have changed. And nothing will ever be the same." April felt a knot form itself in her stomach. His statement was cryptic, but there was an unpromising tone to it.

"You're just being cryptic again. It's like soap opera sex. Lots of boring dialogue, and when they finally do go to bed, everything's dark, and covered by blankets," she said in frustration. He turned to her.

"You want the full monty, then? Come with me, come outside, No more talk. I will show you the truth." He rose, and with trepidation, she followed. They went outside into the back alley. It was dark and empty, the only signs of life being the occasional scurry of rodents.

"This is probably as good a place as any," said Cortez. "At least there's no one around to see. Except rats."

"See what?" _I don't like this. At all. _

"Stand back, senorita," he warned her.

"What for?" she demanded. "What are you doing?" His reply was not what she'd expected, and it sent chills down her spine.

"Why, Alice. I'm sending you through the looking-glass!" he answered. Uneasily, she stepped back a pace as he turned towards the back alley wall. He waved his arms in a circular movement and made a pulling gesture. A large horizontal lozenge-shaped section of the wall with a strange symbol bulged out, light swirling.

"What…what is that?" April stammered. "Please tell me it's a hologram."

"It's a mirror, to reflect your dreams," Cortez said vaguely.

"But I don't see anything. Just…light." _What is this, and why did Cortez…? _

"You have to step through," he told her.

"Step through that? Oh no, I don't think so." She wanted to flee, to run like hell as fast as she could, but she was frozen, rooted in place from her shock.

"This is the moment of decision, April," said Cortez solemnly. "All time, past and present, revolves around this moment. The destiny of worlds is in your hands. But you must make the choice on your own. La vida es corta...you must decide how to live it best."

"I-I'm not sure what I should do," she admitted.

"I understand," he said. "It's a difficult decision, because whatever you do, your life will change forever. So take your time about it. Don't rush into a decision you're not ready to make." April looked from the gateway to him, and back again. Now was the chance to finally learn the truth and gain some answers. Cortez was giving her the chance to get answers, but as scared as she was, her need to know the truth won out.

"I'll do it," she said after several moments.

"Vamos. Enter the light."

"No, don't—don't say that. It's too ominous," she protested. "Just…tell me what's going to happen."

"You're about to take the first step on the longest journey of your life. But don't worry. I'll be waiting, right here," he assured her. _You're about to take the first step on the longest journey of your life. _She didn't know what he meant by that, and she didn't want to know. All she knew was that she needed answers.

"I must be insane to do this," she muttered, shaking her head. Cortez nodded in agreement.

"Yes, it's pretty much a given," he concurred. "When you're ready to come back, pay a visit to a friend of mine called Westhouse. Brian Westhouse." April nodded. An aperture formed to allow her entry. Taking a deep breath, she stepped in to see what seemed like a tiny cave with streaks and patches of blue blotches. An incandescence of bluish-white glow scintillated ahead, little sparkles and rays streaming off her towards it. Experimentally, she stretched her hand towards it and felt a pull. A chill settled over her as she looked over her shoulder, the aperture was closing. Outside, Cortez shut his eyes as if in prayer.

"Vaya con dios, child. And may the Balance protect you," he murmured.

* * *

Time seemed to slow down. Light enveloped her and she closed her eyes, unable to bear it. When she opened them again, she seemed to be floating in a pool of water and darkness loomed ahead. She screamed as the water released her and tumbled out into the darkness. Fortunately, she did not fall far and hit a cool surface with a grunt. She lay there, momentarily stunned. The air smelt a little musty and as her vision cleared up, she discerned the warm glimmer of lights from a few lanterns. Getting to her feet, she looked around her. Before her was a wall with webbed lines that betrayed the decay of age. A mural of some men dressed in robes was painted on it but other than that...

She seemed to be in a small passageway lined with pillars. More murals lined the walls as she walked towards an open doorway at the end of the passage. Lanterns were hung at intervals, lighting the way and she came to a hall. A large circle of runes was set into the floor. Here there were more lanterns, barely dispelling the dark. The lanterns were quaint though, or was it oil lamps or whatever their magical equivalent may be called. But they went with the general decor of the place. Strange she should be thinking of magic but after what had happened, she had no logical explanation. Enormous satin drapes hung near a pair of heavy doors. An old man with a skullcap, dressed in white robes and holding an interesting looking staff, stood with his back to her, reading a scroll at a pedestal table. He looked like a priest to her but nevertheless she approached him cautiously.

"Hello?" she said nervously. The old man turned around to face her; he seemed not surprised by her appearance, and nodded to her to continue. "Hi…" He bowed before her before speaking in a deep, soothing voice. His language, she did not know.

"_E tu? E milye tue va?_"

"Do you speak English?" she asked. "_Parlez vous Francais? Habla Espanol_?"

"_A ku, Stark ka'yen paras! Ie nomalanate kandra! Ton, maris; are thies e ton_!" April still didn't understand, but something told her to simply listen. She listened attentively. _"A ku, kande'e. _Good._ Neran'ton al'voce. Sank'al koda _magic,_ toranc'e shaal'e. _Na'ven. Alltongue. _Al' orta'e beginning prasam'tin'y y_ you. You have _thiesa y magic'e'sara, y the_ knowledge _aertiu'a tue _by generations _e umani,_ knowledge of Alltongue. Now you have allowed the magic to enter your heart, and the knowledge of Alltongue, ever present but dormant, to guide your ears and your tongue."

"I understand you!" April exclaimed. "You speak English? Why didn't you just tell me?" He chuckled warmly.

"No, child. I do not speak 'English'. I speak Na'ven, Alltongue…the common language of Arcadia." _Na'ven? Alltongue? Arcadia? _

April stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around the situation. This had to be a dream. None of this was real. "Arcadia? Wait a second...how did I get here? What is this place? And who the hell are you?"

"Ah, my manners have abandoned me yet again. I am afraid my preoccupation with the ancient texts and the company of my fellow Fathers have left me unequipped with the grace of social intercourse." He didn't seem perturbed by her outburst.

"Meaning…?"

"That I have been rude. My name, dear child, is Tobias Grensret, and I am the Vestrum of the Sentinel, the Order of the Balance. We are the Fathers," he told her.

"…Okay," she said slowly. "I'm April. April Ryan."

"I take it this is your first Shift, your first passage through the Divide?" Tobias questioned. What the hell was he talking about? Shift? Divide? This made no sense.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but I guess this is my first Shift. I just—" She shook her head in hopes of clearing her mind.

"Then I will explain…everything," he said. "Someone must. You are without guidance? Without a mentor?" Confusion played across his face. _Surely your mentor would not have simply abandoned you. _The words hung in the air, unsaid.

"Mentor?" April repeated. "There's this guy, Cortez, he…assisted me. Told me about magic and truth and dreams and portals. Crazy stuff... Well, it seemed crazy at the time, although now, I...don't..." She trailed off. None of this made any sense. Alltongue, Arcadia, the Balance, a Divide, what the hell did it all mean? A part of her was determined to get some answers, while another part of her just wanted to go back home. There had been no turning back when she'd made her choice to go through the gateway. It was too late now, and she couldn't leave until she had answers.

"Cortez?" pressed Tobias, his brow furrowed. "Ah, yes, Cortez. Very good, very good. Then come, let us proceed. Let me show you Marcuria, the grandest city of all ages!" April narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Did he know Cortez? _Why else would we have perked up at his name? _She didn't have much time to think about it as he led her to the heavy doors and pushed them open. After the dim interior of the temple, the bright glare of the sun briefly blinded her. When her vision cleared, she stared in open-mouthed wonder at the sight of a picturesque sprawling city before her. She walked out in a daze. Birds chirped sweetly among the leaves of trees, muted calls of people, of various animals: a rooster crowing, the neighing of horses, piping music and drums from the marketplace below the temple steps floated on the air. Streets meandered along low lying buildings. She turned around to see a backdrop of mountains that stretched past the city down to the sea in the distance. A flight of seabirds called as they headed out to the sea.

"Explore Marcuria, April," said Tobias. "See the sights, meet the people, and then, when you are ready, return to the temple. I will answer whatever questions you may have then."

* * *

April looked keenly at the clothes of a woman passing her on the temple steps and wandered over to the fountain in the center of the marketplace. The whole fountain had been carved in one piece, from a granite-like material. Very impressive. The colorful tented stalls of the marketplace were arranged around the fountain. Stallholders called out their wares as people strolled from stall to stall, looking at the displayed goods. Other than the usual darker and lighter skinned people, some of them were completely blue! She tried her best not to stare too hard in her fascination. Some were not even humanoid. The color and fashion of their garbs were as bewildering as the bouquet of scents and odors in the air. She stopped to watch a man instructing a young boy on the arts of sword wielding, the sounds of their mock battle adding to the cacophony of the market. She steered a wide path around a strange animal with its equally strange rider. She had never imagined she would see anything like it.

A young woman in a top and pantaloons on a raised platform performed an intricate dance accompanied by piping music in one of the tents. In a world without the screen, she guessed that was what passed for entertainment, and it was pretty impressive. She was sorry she had no coin to give when the performance ended and the audience dropped tokens of their appreciation into a small basket on the platform. The stalls were selling all kinds of wares: leather, metal, wood crafts, fresh and dried foodstuff, spices, etc. One particular stall was almost overflowing with scrolls stacked over and under the tables. The burly stallholder, whose hat reminded her of those worn by Dutch maids with the flaps hanging down, was exchanging dark looks with the merchant tending the stall opposite him as she took a closer look at the scrolls that were spread out on the tables.

"Maps! I got maps! Can I interest you in a map, miss? Top notch, hand drawn in quality ink by skilled Sunriders. Ain't no better in all of the Northlands!" April was nearly deafened by the merchant's overtly loud yelling.

"Hey, how much are your maps?" she asked him.

"That depends, miss. Got a very nice one here of the Border Mountains for only six arens. Fresh from the quill of a Sunrider. Maps! Get your maps here," the merchant told her. _Arens, huh? In that case, I am totally broke. _

"Do you sell maps of the city?" She knew she could use with a map of Marcuria. Surely, she would get herself lost in no time at all.

"Can't help you there, miss. The Guild of Tourism has monopoly on city maps. I can tell you're not from around here, or you'd know that. Got tons of maps of all the Northlands, though, from the city of Tyren to the Bay of Fire. Maps!" The merchant didn't question her origins, much to her surprise.

"Can you tell me where the Guild of Tourism?"

"They're closed for the holidays," was his reply. _Well, I have no idea when the holidays are here in…wherever this is. _

"Do you know Vestrum Tobias, by any chance?" April asked.

"Everyone knows Vestrum Tobias, girl," said the dealer. "He's been an important part of the city for as long as I can remember."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"The Vestrum is an honorable man, but a conservative one, and I don't know if he still has the best interests of the people at heart," he said slowly. "Sometimes I think he worries too much about custom. The Sentinel have been our so-called protectors and keepers of the Balance for so long, we don't even think of it anymore. But now that the Vanguard are introducing a new way of thinking, new philosophies ... I'm afraid the Sentinel will find their power diminished before too long. Their resistance to change will be their downfall, mark my words. Their downfall for certain. And Tobias—honorable man that he is—will be remembered as the captain who went down with his ship." April nodded, absorbing this information. As intrigued as she was, she didn't want to immerse herself in this world's politics.

_I'll ask Vestrum Tobias about the Vanguard once I go back to the temple, _she reminded herself. _I may not be planning on staying here, but it'd be good to know. _"What's Arcadia like?"

The merchant heaved a sigh. "What can I say about a whole world, girl? It's a beautiful place, for sure, but we're stuck in the past. We don't look ahead, not like our cousins in Stark. Magic is all well and good, but it won't bring our world into the modern age. And Arcadia is untamed. It's wild and unpredictable - good for the map business, sure, but not so good for productivity and expansion. No, some people may consider our world a paradise. The Sentinel, for one - they prefer to keep it just the way it is. Me, I'd like to see some changes, and fast."

"Stark?"

"Land of wonders, strange customs, and machinery!" he exclaimed. "Ah, to be in Stark... I'd give my right leg - well, perhaps not my right leg as such, you really need to sturdy legs to stand in this business, or you'll find yourself...yes, a grand place indeed. Free of this blasted, chaotic, unpredictable magic, does no good to anyone. Now, machines! Built by man, controlled by man, in servitude of man! That's the future, isn't it? Yes, the Vanguard may be a little unorthodox in their methods and teachings, but they're right about one thing. Stark and Arcadia belong together, not apart." _Stark…he must be referring to home. He has to be. _

"Thanks," April said, and left him to his business. She moved away to look at the different items displayed at the stall, especially a life-like curved wooden head which could be anybody in particular, or simply just an old head. Before the merchant was a small red mat and three upturned cups. She had read about games like that. It was a traditional game of cups, in which one stood no chance of ever winning. The fun part was seeing just how much one could possibly lose in one go. She strolled over to the opposite stall tended by a sleazy-looking merchant. A large black bird with drooping ruffled feathers looked morosely back at her from its cage.

"What a sorry-looking bird," she muttered to herself.

"You don't look too polished yourself, lady," the bird snapped. April jumped, startled. A talking bird? She shook her head and chuckled to herself. She was in Arcadia now, a world unlike none other she'd seen before, a world that could only be found in epic fantasy novels. Magic existed, and anything was possible. Why Cortez had sent her to this place, she wasn't quite sure.

Wandering along the paved city streets, she scrutinized the fascinating building designs. Some of them sported unusually long facades. Decor varied in bewildering styles from Hobbit-like round doors to carvings and paintings running over doorposts and walls. Even the windows were intriguing. Most of the buildings had steep roofs and none more than three stories high at most. The city was built on the gentle slopes of a mountain which slanted down to the sea and was sectioned by six fortified rampart walls, each with a set of gates and guards. She doubted she had the time to explore the entire city and elected to walk down to the harbor, careful to avoid getting into the way of carts and wagons.

Two armed brawny soldiers stood vigil at the city gates that opened out to the harbor. They must be part of the city watch and looked a lot more intimidating than the Newport cops, despite the lack of an exoskeleton. Blue flames burned in two large iron dishes held by two large wooden statues standing on either side of the gates. Stout guardians of the city. Wood, but stout. The blue fire was hypnotically beautiful. It was either propane or magic and she guessed the latter. Large blocks of tufa formed the city wall with relieving arches. The walls looked ancient. Marcuria must be at least as old as anything back in her world. Creeping plants sprawled out on the wall-face and cracks. Additional structures, which looked like a bartizan, rose above the battlements which ended in a wall tower. Further out in the distance to the east beyond the round tower was a strange formation of rock next to the cliff side. One of which looked like a tower, an arch protruding from it to join with the cliff to form a ring.

She inspected the wares of the stalls set outside the city walls. A lady was selling fresh fish. She had never seen fish like those before, but if it was wet and had fins, fish it was. At another stall, a guy was selling a variety of fresh shellfish; lobsters, crabs, eels and a strange purple thing. It looked unappetizing. She turned away, shuddering with revulsion and spotted another stall further away. The merchant nodded to her, a couple of men behind him hard at work on some barrels. His wares were musical instruments. She did not recognize most of the instruments, but he had a drum and what looked like half a guitar. And a couple of dried rabbit carcasses? The merchant read her expression clearly and blew a flute in protest. She strolled to the neat sand-stoned quay, there hardly seemed any activity. Men whom she assumed were sailors or dock workers stood looking out to sea, or talking solemnly to one other with a few taking their leisure in the sun, napping on crates. The harbor was full of ships of all sizes. Some of the galleons looked bigger than ocean liners and was truly breathtaking. There were dozens and dozens of them and a number of smaller vessels. Marcuria must be a very important, and very busy port. Intrigued by the ships, she trotted down the pier for a closer look.

Huge ornamental braziers alit with the blue fires lined the piers. A lighthouse stood tall at the end like the ones at home. Except this one burnt a bright blue fire. A safe beacon for weary sailors and a magnet for flowery prose. The sea was still like smooth glass, not a ripple marred its surface. An old man sitting by one of the smaller pier caught her attention. He was the only person who was busy with a chore. A small barge with a large rent in the sail that had been patched lay moored nearby. It was like a toy boat for children. Given a choice, she would not feel too comfortable about sailing anywhere in that.

He put away his pipe and returned to mending nets. She had seen and heard enough, time to return to the temple. But not before she investigated the large boat nearby. Assorted cargo lay on the pier and a man stood before the gangway, smoking a pipe. Judging by his ungainly stance, she'd say he was a mariner pinning for the sea. The sailing vessel had a carving of a white dragon running along its hull. She was not sure whether to call it a small ship, or boat. She did not know the difference. Was there a difference? Roaming around the city had been intriguing, but none of her questions had been answered. She hoped Vestrum Tobias could provide the answers; she was sick of being in the dark about everything.

Returning to the temple, April was surprised to find her heart was pounding. She couldn't tell whether or not it was fear or anticipation. Perhaps a mix of both. Back home, she was almost certain people were seeing even stranger things than the creature that'd manifested at the diner. Her intuition was telling her that Arcadia had something to do with it. Where else would the animal have come from?

"Hello? Vestrum Tobias?" she called out, walking towards him. He turned to her, and offered her a warm and gentle smile.

"Tobias!" he corrected her. "Just call me Tobias, please. I require no ceremony from a distinguished guest such as yourself. Did you enjoy the sights?"

"I don't know," April admitted. "I'm...overwhelmed. Walking around out there, seeing with my own two eyes things that can't possibly exist... I kept thinking, it's all a dream. I'll wake up at any moment now and everything will return to normal. But then I realized, I'm still here. It's real. I can touch it, and I can smell it... And you know what? It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense here. Magic, alien creatures, parallel worlds... I don't believe in those things. I don't believe in fairy tales." She was reeling, telling herself that she was dreaming, but her senses screamed the truth.

"In your world, in Stark, there is no room for magic," explained Tobias. "That is, and always has been, the curse of science, the fallibility of logic and order. They leave no room for the imagination. If it does not fit into the narrow perception of the laws of nature that your world adheres to, it's a fairy tale. But then magic has its downsides too. It's unpredictable. It invites chaos. It puts the Balance in peril in a way science alone never could."

_Stark, the Balance. There're those words again. _"I keep hearing about the 'Balance'," April went on, "and about 'Stark' and 'Arcadia', and... This is probably going to sound strange to you, but I'm clueless. I have no idea what this place is, or what I'm doing here, or... All I know is that something strange is happening in—in my world... I guess. I had dreams, and the dreams felt so real, and then things started happening in real life too, things that shouldn't—couldn't—happen, and I—"

Tobias interrupted her gently. "I think I will begin at the very beginning," he decided. "I believe that is why you were sent here, to learn, to understand, to see for yourself. Like you said, you cannot believe in this place. Well, you will. After you have learned the truth, you will. Come with me, and I will tell you the story of Earth as your books never have. And when your eyes and ears are open to the truth, perhaps your mind will follow? We can only hope. Come."

He led her from the hall to the small passage she had appeared in initially and stopped before the paintings on the walls. April studied the art and listened to his words. The mural before her showed a few people around a tower. Smoke rose from a distant mountain, partly obscuring the moon and the crescent of what looked like a planetary body. A greenish star glowed in the darkness of the sky. "This is the true Story of the Balance, as observed by the Sentinel, the Order of the Balance, the Fathers," he began. "The Sentinel Minstrum committed this story to the pages of the Scriptures, and to these temple walls, thousands of years ago, so that coming generations could learn and understand their past and their future. The wall paintings we are looking at became known as the Murals of the Balance, and it is through these images that I will recount our common history to you, April Ryan. The story begins and ends here, with this mural. Ages ago, and in ages to come, the Earth was one, and magic and science existed side by side in nature and in all people. There was balance and there was harmony."

"You're saying there was only one world, then?" April asked. Tobias nodded.

"One world, one Earth. Magic and science in balance with each other, within each and every living creature. The power to makes the stars dance and to create life itself was within our grasp. But then humankind began to exploit this divine power of Two and they saw fit to use it for their own selfish purposes. The Balance of the Cosmos was in peril."

The next mural depicted a roiling whirlwind of a lightning storm with a green vortex in the center that was drawing in the debris of crumbling land and tumbling bodies. Terrified faces of a couple, the man in wild fear and the woman holding a baby, stared out of the painting as they ran for their lives. April was struck by the vividness of the artwork.

"Unless something was done, unless man was humbled and learned to fear the power he wrought over Cosmos, the twilight of Chaos would fall upon Earth. It had happened before, in distant times and on distant worlds and it would happen again. And every man, woman and child of every people, every race would be devoured by the coming apocalypse. We were given a visitation then. The Draic Kin, having lived among us for untold generations, rose to offer their guidance and assistance in preserving the Balance of our world."

They moved to the mural April saw when she first appeared in the passage. The group of men were all dressed in robes. One of them held a staff akin to Tobias's and another, with a cowl over his head, leaning on a much shorter plain staff. "The Draic Kin?" she echoed.

"Draic Kin, Drachen, Dragons - whichever name they go by, they remain the eternal servants and custodians of the Balance. There were four of them here on Earth. And of the four, one who would found the Order of the Balance, the Sentinel. The first Minstrum was instructed that magic and science would have to be separated before the Balance collapsed and brought untold disaster. Earth would have to be split in two equal parts. Arcadia and Stark - magic and science - Chaos and order. The first Sentinel were counted Thirteen. Six scientists, six magicians and One who was between. The Draic Kin. Our mentor, our custodian, our learned guide. Both magic and science were needed to perform this most difficult of tasks, to split a world in two, to create two worlds from one."

"Wasn't the use of that kind of power dangerous to the Balance?" April queried. Tobias nodded and went on.

"Yes, and so for this purpose they built a tower to channel their powers and focus them on the Divide that they would create. The Kin had brought a disc with them, a disc forged in the fire of their world. Paced at the base of the tower and the epicentre of the Divide, the disc and the tower would become one - a conduit for the flow of magic and science. At the appointed hour, the Thirteen came to the tower, and with them, a woman whose destiny was decided by the purpose to which she had been born. She would be the first Guardian, the human protector of the Balance, who would stay in the tower for a thousand years to watch over the two worlds, and to ensure that the flows of magic and science were always equal. And so the ritual begins..."

_Ritual? _The last mural depicted a human hanging suspended in a beam between two entwining symbols, orange and blue, in the midst of roiling winds.

"One world was to become two, separated by the Balance and each would be visible to the other only by way of dreams. Who was ushered into which world was not an arbitrary choice nor one taken lightly. For the magical creatures, the choice was simple. They had to go to Arcadia. Their kind would not survive in Stark. But for other ... Families were torn apart, lovers separated and friends lost for eternity. Encircled by the Twelve and the One and the one who would be Guardian, the disc at the base of the tower began to spin faster and faster as more and more power flowed through it... until it was a blur. Darkness enveloped the tower but the disc glowed brighter and brighter. Reality turned in one moment, a new reality had been created and two worlds born.

"In the tower, there was silence. The original disc had disappeared and in its place was a smaller counterpart, a similar and yet different disc. Around and outside the tower, the world looked different. They were not between Stark and Arcadia, between reality and dream. This was the Realm of the Balance and of the Guardian and it would be her home for the next one thousand years.

"The one who was Kin picked up the disc and said, 'This disc is a counterpart to the original disc which has become this realm and the key to which has been split and divided in four ... but nor can it be repaired without the disc being repaired. The four pieces that is the key will be given to the six of you who are to be taken to Arcadia for safe keeping. The key is the disc and the disc is the realm.' This mystified the twelve and the one who was Kin continued, 'Know only this. The Guardian's Realm cannot be broken unless the disc is broken. Yet the key will never be complete,' he went on, 'without the precious stones that adorn each piece. I will keep one, and my fellow Kin three others. Should the day come when this realm must be repaired or the worlds reunited—and that day will come—you will assemble the disc and the Kin will come together one last time.'

"With that, six of the Thirteen went to Arcadia and six to Stark and the One who would be Guardian ascended the throne—witness the mural—where her dreams and hopes, her very soul were locked away in the disc. In service of the Balance, these traits were but barriers. Through new eyes, the imbalance between the worlds was as clear as the stars themselves to the Guardian and with one thought ... she channeled chaos from Arcadia and logic from Stark into the disc and redistributed the power wherever it was needed. A new era had begun, the era of the Guardian.

"After they left the tower, two of the Draic Kin went to Stark, and the other two to Arcadia. The Six who came to each world started what is now known as the Sentinel, the Order of the Balance. But while in Arcadia, the Sentinel thrived, in Stark, they did not. In Stark, the memories of magic and the Balance could not survive in the face of the new reality of natural laws, of logic and of science...and soon, very soon, Arcadia become nothing more than legend, a myth, tales of faeries to recount to impressionable children, and stories to frighten and entertain around a fire. And while dreams still brought sights and sounds of Arcadia to those asleep in Stark, they were discounted as mere dreams...and nothing more."

April pressed her hands to her temples, trying to take in all he'd said. "So that's it? We forgot about our past, and about Arcadia, and that's the way things are? Then what's wrong with that? And why does magic from Arcadia seem to have begun leaking through to Stark?" _The animal that appeared in the diner. My dream about a dragon. It's all Arcadian. _

"That is another long story, but I can tell you are tired of stories, and so I shall be brief," answered Tobias. "As I told you, while in Arcadia, the Sentinel grew in numbers and in strength, in Stark, while flourishing for a brief time, they were soon diminished and powerless. Some of the Stark Sentinel did not take kindly to this, and they berated the Arcadian Sentinel for their politics and teachings. The Stark Sentinel want people to work towards reunification, while their brothers did not. So the inevitable soon came to pass, and the Stark Sentinel parted ways with their Arcadian brothers, and named themselves the Vanguard. And while, at first, their philosophy was not so different from ours... over the years it changed radically. The Vanguard wanted the Divide torn down, the worlds reunited, the return to what they called the glorious ages, when humankind would control the forces of cosmos. But first, they needed their own servant in charge of the Balance, their own Guardian.

"Now, every one thousand years, a new Guardian took the place of the old one, because no one can be separated from their souls for any longer than a thousand years. Every one thousand years, a new Guardian was born. The Balance provided the seed from which a new fruit grew. But now, it has been two hundred years since the previous Guardian, the Twelfth Guardian was to be replaced... Every new child born to the Balance has been taken away by the Vanguard, to be studied in an attempt to control them. In every instance—so far—they have failed. But the Twelfth Guardian could wait no longer. Only a short time ago, the disc in the tower shattered, and the Guardian left his throne. The Balance is now untended, and we have yet to find a new Guardian. Unless we do so, the Vanguard may yet get their chance...and they may be able to place their own puppet on the throne, to rule the Balance according to their principles. And this we cannot allow. It will mean the end of Stark and Arcadia, and the dawn of an era of Chaos. Now do you see?"

April nodded. As overwhelmed as she was, she finally understood why everything that was happening back at home—back in Stark—was happening. The Balance was weakening, and Arcadia was bleeding into Stark. She couldn't help but recall the White Dragon's words to her in her dream. _The breach and the mending, the pain and the joy, the end of the old and the dawn of the new. A different world. I am the mother of what is, but you—you are the mother of a future that may yet be. _She still didn't understand the meaning behind those words. "I understand the history. I can even accept it. But I don't understand why I'm here, and what Cortez wants with me."

"The Balance is in peril, April. The Guardian has abandoned his tower, he has disappeared, and there is no one to take his place. He must be reinstated, to protect the Balance until a new Guardian may be found."

"And what can I do?" she demanded. "I'm nobody. I've just been having a lot of bad dreams."

"You are a strong Shifter," said Tobias. "I have not seen your like in my lifetime."

_A what? _"A Shifter?"

"Someone capable of opening doors between worlds, a Shift, a portal between the realms of Stark and Arcadia," he answered.

"Are you kidding?" she countered. "I didn't do anything. Cortez was the one who opened the—Shift?—and he just waved his hands around in the air. I don't think I'd be capable of opening a portal even if I have a magic wand."

"Only a Shifter's own power can allow her to travel. No one else can do this for her. Cortez only channeled your own power to aid you. He would not be able to step through this Shift himself."

April sighed in frustration. "Even if that's true, I don't have any control over my...talent."

"Not yet," Tobias said, "but in time, you will. How else do you intend to travel back to your world?"

_Travel back home, shit! _"Oh my God, I hadn't even thought about that yet. Can't you help me?"

"I'm afraid not. Even if I could Shift, I would not be able to channel through you like Cortez did." April stared at him, feeling hopelessness and frustration course through her. For all she knew, there were no other Shifters in Arcadia that could help her. She couldn't stay here, she knew that. She didn't belong in Arcadia.

"So…I'm on my own?" she said.

"If you have any questions," began Tobias, "I will do my best to answer them, but aside from that? Yes. Yes you are."

"That's so not cool," muttered April under her breath.

"No, it has been unseasonably warm," he said. "If you don't mind, I will return to my studies now. Thank you for listening to an old man and his long stories."

"No, no, thank you. It's starting to make a little bit of sense now." It was true. She finally understood the reasoning behind the strange, otherworldly occurrences back home, but at the same time, she was frightened. _I can't do this. The Guardian may be AWOL, but I'm just not the right person to set out on a search and rescue mission. I need to get home and try to forget all about this. _

"That is good news. Come see me again if you have any more questions." He returned to his reading as she lingered at the passage, looking at the murals and running over what she had learnt. She wondered how much Tobias knew about Cortez, if he knew him at all. There had been a flash of recognition in his eyes upon the first mention of his name. _Ask about Cortez later, just get to Brian Westhouse. _

"Do you know a man named Brian Westhouse?" she questioned. Tobias seemed baffled she'd ask about his location.

"His whereabouts? I do not understand what you would wish with him," he said. "He is rude, uncultured and ignorant."

"Cortez told me to look him up," she clarified.

"Well...I do not know where he lives or frequents, but someone at the market may. He trades merchandise there, and I think he collects maps of the Northlands." _The map merchant, _she realized. "There is one thing I must tell you, however. Few would know West-house by his real name. In the city, he is known as the Rolling Man because of his strange, two-wheeled vehicle. A most dreadful and dangerous contraption if ever I saw one."

"I'll see you later," said April, and made her leave.

* * *

She returned to the marketplace, strolling towards the map merchant's stall. "I'm looking for Brian Westhouse," she said.

"Briar West of House? It's not on any of my maps, and I've never heard of it. Maps!" _Dammit. _She kicked herself mentally after that last statement. Tobias had told her Westhouse went by the name of the Rolling Man. She must have been more distracted than she thought. But then, her day had not been going as she expected. She tried again.

"Can you tell me where the Rolling Man lives?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Why?" The trader was gaining a cocky edge to his voice, and April felt the last of her patience slip away.

"Because I need to find him. It's important," she snapped.

"Cursed be the Balance, are you his lover?" he countered. "With child?" April rolled her eyes. She didn't have time for this. The suggestion that she and Brian were lovers and she was pregnant with his child was ridiculous.

"Maybe, maybe not. Just tell me where he is, and I'll leave you alone," she said. "Does that sound good to you?"

He sighed and gave her the directions to Brian's house. It was a lot to remember, but she thought she had the gist of it. Just go west until she hit the edge. She'd know his house when she saw it. Grumbling a thank you, she departed.

The sun was low in the sky. She wondered what time it was back in Stark. After passing through the last city gates and heading west, she reached the edge of the cliff. A flight of wooden stairs led her down to a small house jutting out from the cliff. The view was almost hypnotizing. There was hardly any sound except the cry of sea birds overhead. The panorama of sea and land was indeed breathtaking. Back home, a place like that would easily set one back tens of millions. In Arcadia, it was probably free. The sunsets must look spectacular from where she was standing. A man, whose garb obviously originated from Stark, sat on a large bench at the patio, looking at the vista.

"Hello, Mr. Westhouse?" she called.

"Damnation, what is it now?" Brian snapped. She could hear his eye-roll in his annoyed tone. Scowling, he turned to face her. His irritation vanished when he saw her. "I guess you're not... You're not calling on behalf of that son of a bitch Sanyef, are you?" he pressed.

"I don't know who—"

He shook his head. "No. No, that's very unlikely. From what I hear, he doesn't much enjoy the company of women. Who in damnation are you?" He slurred his last words. How much had he been drinking prior to her arrival? She didn't want to know, come to think of it.

"April Ryan."

"Ryan?" Brian's brow knitted in confusion. "That doesn't sound very Northlandian. Are you by any chance from the coast of...hold on...Ryan? April Ryan? I'll be damned—you're from Stark!"

"Yep," she confirmed. "Cortez told me to look you up when I wanted to go back home to Stark."

"Did you say Cortez? You wouldn't be talking about old Manny Chavez, would you? He ought to be dead by now. But then, by all rights, so should I."

"I don't know his first name, but he calls himself Cortez."

"Tall fellow, mysterious and elusive, rarely answers a question with a simple yes or no? Smokes like a chimney?" April chuckled and nodded.

"Aside from that bit about smoking like a chimney, it sounds exactly like Cortez," she confirmed.

"Manny!" he exclaimed. "I'll be damned. That old crook is still around. How the devil is he?"

"He's good," replied April. "Where do you know him from?"

"My old life back in Stark," explained Brian. "We had some exciting adventures, him and I. Actually, he's a part of the reason why I ended up here. I last saw him in the winter of 1934."

_1934?! _"But that's almost three hundred years ago!" she exclaimed. He laughed.

"Yes. Funny, isn't it?" he said. "And I'm sure he doesn't look a day older than he did back then, the handsome devil."

"Well, if I'm going to accept magic and parallel worlds, I might as well accept people living three hundred years," she muttered.

"Oh no, you misunderstood. I'm only forty-six. I arrived here about fifteen years ago, but I...left Stark in 1934. Between the worlds, where you dream, time has little meaning. I was trapped, you see, for quite a while."

"…For three hundred years?"

"Time went by pretty fast," he sighed. "It didn't seem so bad at the time, but now that you mention it...three hundred years...quite disconcerting, really. Quite disconcerting."

"How did you end up here in Marcuria?" asked April.

"Hah!" he laughed. "That's quite a story. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say, I was somewhat of an adventurer. The promise of virgin territory, untouched by civilization, held great sway with me in my youth, as did the idea of a highly spiritual state of mind—the occult, magic, karma... I was born in 1902, in Boston, but by the time I was seventeen, I'd put that life behind me. I spent the next three years at sea, and then I wandered around Europe for a time. In the early thirties—the nineteen-thirties, of course—I found myself in India, working as a journalist. That's where I met Manny. And that's where I first heard of Arcadia. I was amazed and quite skeptical at first, but the thought of a whole new world to see...and magic... I was a fool, of course, but who knew where my curiosity would bring me?"

"What happened in India?"

"I've tried to forget about it, to be honest. If I could go back, and convince myself not to... But I still wouldn't have listened, of course. The unknown attracts. I ended up in Tibet, in the winter of '34, wading through snow up to my chest, thinking for sure that this was it, I was going to die. Manny pulled me out of that one, thank God. I spent three months in a monastery before... pushing into the void. There's only one way for a non-Shifter to pass through the Divide, and it's not an easy road to take. Now... if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to talk about the past anymore. There's more than enough to worry about in the present."

_Might as well get to the point. _"I need to get back home to Stark. Cortez told me to look you up."

"Now why would he say that?" Brian responded. "I'm not a Shifter, and I don't know any magic. I'm sorry, Miss Ryan, but you'd be better off asking the Sentinel priests for instance."

"Already did. They said I was on my own, that they couldn't help me." April felt her heart plummet. She was never going home, was she?

"Bloody typical. Those reactionary fools wouldn't extend a hand to help a drowning man if it violated the principles of their bloody Balance. But I can't think why Manny would tell you to visit me in order to Shift home. It just doesn't make sense." With a heavy heart, she retraced her steps wordlessly as Westhouse frowned and mumbled to himself as he took another swig. He stopped her just as she reached the end of the patio. "Hold on one second, Miss Ryan," he called. "I just remembered something. It was such a long time ago, I'd almost forgotten, but Manny did give me something that might be of interest."

"What is it?" she questioned, turning around to face him.

"It's a pocket-watch," explained Brian. "Manny gave it to me the last time I saw him. I never quite understood why, but maybe you can tell me."

"Did he say anything about it?"

He shook his head. "He said that when his heart started beating again, he would know. It would be like a message in Morse code. A beacon. The damn watch never worked, and the winding mechanism is broken, so it's probably not worth much. You're welcome to it, if it's any help."

"Thanks," April said. He handed her an antique pocket watch that was not ticking and returned to his drink. The watch seemed rather ordinary to her. The knob for wounding the watch had broken off, and there was only a tiny hole left. Perhaps if she could get it to work again. Rummaging through her stuff, she found the pushpin. Carefully, she jiggled it into the hole and turned it experimentally. There was the reassuring sound of the gears turning. Slowly, she wound it and the watch began to tick. With a chime and a roar of rushing wind, an azure portal manifested itself before her.

Brian stared, stunned. "By God, it's a Shift! I haven't seen one for ages," he exclaimed.

"Why don't you come back with me, Mr. Westhouse?" April suggested. "You could say hello to your old friend...Manny."

"If I tried to step through that, Miss Ryan, I would suffer a most unpleasant experience, and I would be lost in the between forever," he told her. "And besides, I built this house with my own two hands. I wouldn't want to leave it to these barbarians. And what does your Stark have to offer me? This world is more recognizable to me now. No, you go ahead, Miss Ryan. Go back, and don't let your curiosity of the unknown tempt you into making another Shift." She closed her eyes and took a breath. In a way, she understood his reasons for staying in Arcadia. Whatever had happened in India, it'd really shaken him up. He had nothing in Stark, and Arcadia had given him a clean slate. She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. She'd travelled to Venice for a fresh start, to put her past behind her, but instead she was entangled in a web of twin worlds and magic and science that she would never find her way out of, no matter how hard she tried.

"Thanks for your help," she said.

Brian smiled at her. "Say hello to Manny for me. Tell him...tell him I'm doing all right, and that I said thanks." April nodded in affirmation and ran towards the portal, fearful it would disappear. It was like passing through a door this time. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw Cortez waiting, as he'd promised.

"Cortez?" she said quietly. "Oh God, it's real! It's all true. I saw it. I saw the other world. Arcadia. Either I'm going crazy, or you were right about everything." She ran a hand through her hair, turning her back to him as she paced. _I feel like I'm losing my mind, but I'm not. _

"Let's hope for the latter, eh mi Amiga? So I gather your trip was a success?" Cortez pressed. She almost burst out laughing.

"Success? My whole world has been turned topsy-turvy, so I don't think success is the right word... Nothing about it makes sense. The fact is, I don't believe in magic."

"The sun doesn't need you to believe in it to rise in the morning, senorita. You have seen the truth with your own two eyes. I can do nothing more to convince you. It is up to you, now," he said.

"Well, do I have a choice?" she countered. "I have to believe at least some of it. My life wouldn't make much sense otherwise."

"You are a true skeptic, April. Esta bien...we need your kind to balance the hopeless romantics like myself," said Cortez.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"The Minstrum told you about the Balance? About Stark, and Arcadia?"

April nodded. "A man named Tobias... he was called the Vestrum, I think. Vestrum Tobias."

"Ah, so Tobias made Vestrum? Que bien. Good. I knew he would go far when I first met him, years ago. He was just an Istrum, then, a student of the Balance. But he was smart and resourceful. So you know what is going on with the Balance?"

_Where is he going with this? _"Tobias told me that the...Guardian? That the Guardian was missing, and that the Balance was failing. He said this would bring chaos into both worlds," she answered.

"As we're already seeing—your dreams, your nightmares, they are a part of this," explained Cortez. "You sense Chaos more keenly than most others, but even they are beginning to notice that things are not as they should be. Like last night."

"What about last night?"

"What you saw...you were not alone this time, there were others, and they saw the same thing. Not nightmares anymore. Real. The first sign of the damage Chaos can do. The Divide is being breached. It is not yet time for the worlds to be united. A breach could prove catastrophical."

April met his eyes. Who was he? Who was he really? How did he even know about the Balance and Stark and Arcadia and Chaos? "Who are you really, Cortez?"

"Excuse me?"

"People knew you, over there in Arcadia. Tobias—he didn't know you by your real name, but he did know you. And Mr. Westhouse, he knew you too, as Chavez. But several hundred years ago," she said.

Cortez nodded. "Ah. So my secrets are being revealed, are they?"

"I wouldn't say that, because you're still a mystery to me. More so," April said.

"Good. You see, senorita, mystery is important. To know everything, to know the whole truth, is dull. There is no magic in that. Magic is not knowing, magic is wondering about what and how and where."

She sighed. "I'd settle for the truth, just to be able to know you. Because honestly—and I don't mean this in a bad way—you scare me, Cortez. I'm afraid of you." And she was. There was something about him—the way he spoke in riddles, his extensive knowledge of the Balance and the parallel worlds—that unnerved her, and yet, he was the only one she could turn to now. She couldn't tell her friends about the Balance.

"And you're not the only one, mi Amiga," he told her. "I'm sorry, but whatever it is about me that mystifies you, it will have to stay a secret. There are...there are things even you should not know."

"Gee, thanks. That really helped," she said dryly.

"Perdoname. Perhaps later, when we are certain of what the future holds? Si, I think I can promise you that, senorita Ryan. But for now, we must speak of more important matters."

"You helped me back, didn't you?" she said quietly.

"To Shift? _Si._ The power is yours, yes? But for now, you need me to focus your powers, to call forth the dreams," explained Cortez.

"Dreams?" she repeated. Had she focused her abilities when she'd dreamed of the White Dragon? It didn't make sense.

"Yes. To travel from one world to the next, you must pass through the world of dreams. It's the only way. You are capable of opening a Shift on your own, but you might not be able to."

"…What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"The power—the magic—is within you. And when you sleep, sometimes you open the portal without even being aware of it. But when you're awake, it's more difficult. With practice, you will do it," he said.

She shook her head in denial. "I don't think I _want _to do it," she admitted.

"You must. The worlds depend on it." _Why me? Why am I the chosen one? _April met his stare. He couldn't expect her to save Stark and Arcadia. Just because she was a Shifter—

"So what do I do?" she demanded.

"We must work together, April. I can't do it alone, and neither can you," he went on. "We must find the lost Guardian. We must locate the gateway to his realm, and the disc that is the key to his tower. And we must do what we can to curtail, and defeat, the Vanguard."

"How are we going to find the Guardian?"

"The moment he surrendered his throne and left his realm, he stepped back into our world. This world. Stark. This is where he was born, and so this is where he must return to."

"But, he could be anywhere, right?" April countered. For all she knew, the Guardian could have gotten a shuttle ride out of Venice. He could be anywhere in the world right now.

Cortez shook his head, disputing her thoughts. "This city has power, April. Not magic, but the opposite of magic. And it draws people to it like flies to an open fire. All the pieces of the puzzle come together here. You, me, the Vanguard, the Guardian. I can guarantee you that he's here. But where, exactly, I don't know. I think maybe the Vanguard do. I think they may have him."

"If they have him, how are we going to get him back?" she asked. "And why do they need him? Why do we need him?"

"He left his realm, but he's the last Guardian, and only he can open the doorway back to his realm to let his successor through. The Vanguard knows this, but what they don't know – yet – is how to get there."

"Who'd know about the gateway to the Guardian's realm?"

"That I do not know. That knowledge wouldn't be here, in Stark. You must go to Arcadia, study the books, talk with the Minstrum, and others who might know. But not yet. First, we must finish our mission here."

"Where's the key to the Guardian's realm?" asked April. "If we're going to do this—"

"In Arcadia. The key contains two parts. One is the disc itself, the other is the four jewels – the Eyes of the Dragons – that gives the disc the properties of the Balance, and makes it complete."

"And the disc…?"

"The disc was left in the care of the Sentinel, ten thousand years ago. In the beginning, it was kept in the open, displayed for all to see. But not anymore, not since thieves tried to make away with it. They will know where it is. Ask Tobias... Vestrum Tobias."

"What about the four jewels?"

"Ah, the Eyes of the Dragons... They are kept by the four Dragons themselves, two in Arcadia, and two in Stark. The White Dragon has one, as does the Old One. These you must find yourself. I'll help you with the others."

She nodded, taking this all in. There was no turning back now. Leaving Venice would change nothing. A part of her knew that if she didn't do this, nobody else would and her dreams would only intensify. "How exactly do we defeat the Vanguard?"

"The Vanguard are strong here, and growing stronger. Even in Arcadia, they're gaining a foothold, and with the Tyren on a leash... The future looks quite bleak."

"How do you know so much about what's going on in Arcadia?" she queried. Nothing made sense anymore. Arcadia existed. Dragons existed. It was all real, and she was now caught in the midst of a conspiracy that put both Arcadia and Stark at risk.

"Voices whisper in my ear, senorita. Voices that I trust," was all Cortez said.

"You're saying the Vanguard are strong here," April said slowly. "How come I haven't heard about them?"

"They don't go by that name here," he told her. "Did you ever hear of the Church of Voltec?"

April nodded. "Sure. They're…_oh._ They're the Vanguard?"

"_Si_."

"Then they are big," she said. "Very big. But why do they...why assume a different name here?"

"In Arcadia, they flaunt their philosophy," explained Cortez. "They preach the destruction of the Balance under the pretense of returning humankind to the 'glories of the past'. Here, they cannot do that. So they have integrated themselves slowly but surely into society under the subterfuge of New Age religion. And they've built a financial empire to match governments."

_ Holy shit. _"They have that much money?"

"The Vanguard own multinational companies. They own planets, April. They own armies. All they need is the Balance and they will own everything. The twin worlds will be at their mercy."

"So we basically don't stand a chance, do we? Against an enemy like that?" said April quietly.

"If we hold at bay the forces of Chaos, and if we ensure the natural continuation of the Guardian's role within the Balance, then they will have lost."

"Hold on, how are we supposed to fight this Chaos you keep talking about?" she asked.

"You're the key, April," Cortez went on. "You have the power to Shift, yes, but there's more to you than that. You are a child of the Balance, and you...no, that will have to wait... By just being alive, you counter Chaos. Without you, last night might have turned out much worse. That tiny breach might have been permanent."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Then imagine the power you wield when you really do something," he said. "Trust me on this, _Amiga_. It's instinctive to you, to fight Chaos. You see it so clearly, and you will know what to do. You're most needed in Arcadia, where Chaos is a part of reality. The tidal wave will hit there first, and unless it's subdued before it hits Stark full force, we'll never stand a chance."

"Okay, so that's it?" April said. "Kick some Vanguard ass, find the Guardian, locate the entrance to his realm and a ten-thousand year old disc and four dragon eye jewels...and, oh, April – make sure you do battle with the physical manifestation of Chaos along the way, because, hey, that's your destiny." She chuckled in disbelief. This couldn't be happening to her. Not now. "It's impossible, Cortez. I can't do these things. I'm eighteen. I'm an artist...no, not even that. I'm nobody. You can't place all these responsibilities on my shoulders. _I can't carry that much._"

"I'll help you, April," he assured her, sensing her distress. "Others, too. You're not alone."

"Well, I feel very alone," she confessed, "and I can't even tell anybody about this! 'Yeah, hi, how are you? I'm the chosen one, can you help me save the world from evil and chaos?'"

"There is no 'chosen one,' April. There are only those who would, and those who wouldn't. You have a choice between the two."

"You said I had powers…that I wasn't like everybody else."

"True, but you still have a choice," said Cortez. "Prophecies can never unravel the will of a single human. You are one of many possible paths. But, unfortunately, most of the alternative paths have been blocked by...circumstances beyond our control. The world does depend on you. But you have not been 'chosen'. You choose for yourself what you are and what you will be." April felt a sense of reassurance at his words, but she was nonetheless afraid. She was afraid of all she'd learned of: the Balance, Arcadia, the Guardian, and the Draic Kin. It was too much for her to bear. She felt like Frodo Baggins, with an epic quest thrust upon her. Despite Cortez's presence, she was truly alone. A part of her knew it'd be wrong of her to simply turn her back on both worlds and let the Vanguard seize control of the Balance for their own personal gain, yet another part of her just wanted to live her life as April Ryan, not savior of the Balance. But, what choice did she have? She sighed.

"Then the choice will have to be 'yes, let's save the world,'" she said finally. "Where do we start?"

"Here. In Newport," Cortez told her. "We must find out about the Vanguard. Their headquarters are in this city, but where? Do they have the Guardian under lock and key? What are their weaknesses? Once we've done that, you must travel to Arcadia – I cannot go there, and besides, I have things to take care of here."

"Right," April said slowly. "Except...where the hell do I go to find out about the Vanguard? The library? The net?"

"Valuable information is hard to find. Remember the painting I showed you yesterday? The artist, a boy named Warren – I told you about him, yes? Warren is involved in a lot of activities that...aren't exactly legal. He has connections. He can point us in the right direction."

"Where can I find him?"

"My friend, Father Raul, at the Hope Street Cathedral...he's had some contact with the boy lately. Ask him."

_Hope Street? Oh, dear god. _"Wait, did you say Hope Street?" she questioned. "As in the most dangerous neighborhood of Newport?" She shook her head. "Ugh, never mind. Father Raul, was it? At Hope Street Cathedral?"

"Yes. He will lead you in the right direction, help you find Warren Hughes. When you're done tomorrow, we will meet up at the cathedral, late in the afternoon. I need to speak with Raul as well," Cortez answered. "Enjoy yourself tonight, April. Who knows what the future may hold? Good night." He walked off, leaving April to her thoughts. She didn't want to think of what the future held for her. Her thoughts were consumed by the Balance, Arcadia, and the mission to restore the Guardian to his throne. So much was at stake, and it'd been all placed upon her shoulders in less than a day's time. She knew she couldn't turn her back on her home nor on Arcadia. It would be wrong, and something inside of her was whispering to her: _You need to do this. You need to do this. _It was like a constant mantra that was spoken even when she wasn't aware of it being said.

* * *

Night had already fallen when she reached East Venice. After the strange events of the day, she felt the company of good friends at the Fringe Cafe was just the antidote to what she had gone through. She was glad to see Charles behind the bar. Marcus was by the jukebox but she had no inclination to talk to him. Glad to be off her weary feet, she settled into the small couch. It had been a long day and she did not want to reflect too much on anything. Before long, Emma strolled in and pounced on her immediately.

"So where have you been all day?" she asked. "You didn't show up at school, and then Fiona tells me you're out looking for Cortez – again! And on top of that, Zack brags about bagging a date with you. What's up with that?"

April groaned. "Oh shit – Zack! I totally forgot. He's going kill me...if I don't show up, that is." _Guess I forgot about our arrangement while I was in Arcadia. _

Emma stared at her in disbelief. "You mean it's true? You have a date with that asshole? I told him he was full of shit."

"Yeah, well, I needed some information," said April vaguely. "It was either a date, or he wouldn't tell me anything."

"And you sell yourself to get it?" her friend queried incredulously. "April, you're insane. Well, you're just going to have to disappoint him."

April contemplated it for a brief few moments. She wasn't one to break promises, but she absolutely did not want to spend the night with Zack, in bed or not. "Fuck it, I'm staying here."

"Good girl. Now, there are a couple of guys you should keep an eye open for tonight," Emma informed her.

"What, me?" she exclaimed.

"I have a boyfriend. You need a boyfriend. You need a boyfriend, because I have one, and I need somebody to compare boyfriends with. It's not your choice to make, girl. It's just the natural order of things." April was about to protest when it dawned upon her. She was so stressed out and tense from the day's events that she didn't even want to check out any of the guys at the bar with her own best friend. _I really need the downtime. Probably the only break I'm going to have while I'm out there saving the world—worlds. _

"So, okay, which guys are we looking for?" she asked eagerly. Emma smiled at her, and April let her friend's chatter washed over her like a soothing balm and she felt tension slipping away. Pushing away all other thoughts, she immersed herself in the good company of her best friends.


End file.
